


It's the Getting Caught that Kills You

by TheReluctantShipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Thief AU, Thief Castiel, Thief Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: It’s not the first time Dean Winchester has had to try to pick pockets to make ends meet, but it always makes him nervous.Castiel Novak isdonetaking apprentices, but his instincts are screaming at him that there's something special about the green-eyed boy who just tried to steal from him.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I claim no ownership over any of the characters, or the world of Supernatural, however grateful for them I may be, which is hella.
> 
> \- No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.
> 
> \- The "Underage" warning is because Dean is sixteen, Cas is somewhere in his mid-thirties. They absolutely, 100% get it on later in the fic, so if that's not your jam, maybe skip over this one.
> 
> \- Shout out to the two separate people who beta'd the first chapter of this story and appeased my need to be told, "Yes, this story is interesting, people will want to read it, calm your needy ass down." E and A, you're both just lovely.

Dean Winchester weaves through the crowd of people smoothly. He’s simultaneously trying to be as invisible as possible and to keep the ball of nerves in his stomach under control. Vomiting will  _ definitely _ draw attention to him.

It’s not the first time he’s had to try to pick pockets to make ends meet, but it always makes him nervous. He’s only resorted to this a few times, when Bobby doesn’t have enough work at the tavern. The way Bobby looks destroyed when he has to send Dean away is enough to make Dean brush it off every time, make it seem like no big deal.

Bobby has been watching out for them for years. He’s an old Army buddy of John’s, probably the last one he still has, and Dean thinks he only lets John come around still because of he and Sam. The only reason Dean will take the help that Bobby offers is because Bobby  _ knows. _ He knows what kind of position John has put Dean into, and while he doesn’t know  _ exactly _ the lengths that Dean has gone to to take care of Sam, he probably suspects, and he doesn’t say a damn thing about it.

Like the hooking. Dean’s only done that a couple of times, too, and he’s only ever used his hand. Not because he thinks he’s better than the other kids his age who have to sell themselves, but because that always makes him plenty of cash to make sure Sam gets fed. There’s no need to do…  _ More. _ Until it becomes necessary, anyway.

Stealing just intimidates him because… Well, what if he gets caught? Who the hell is gonna take care of Sammy? Sure, Bobby would step in, but that’s not his job, it’s Dean’s.

The circumstances rarely come together so he has to steal at all. Bobby can usually give him enough jobs around the tavern, as busboy or dishwasher or whatever, that he can make ends meet, make sure the rent gets paid and the table has at least enough food for Sam on it (and if it doesn’t have enough to feed both of them, Dean’s not above eating whatever other people leave on plates at the tavern). If that’s not an option, the street is usually a safe bet to make enough cash.

It’s just every once in a while, when the cops come sniffing around to make sure no underage people (read: one Dean Winchester) are working, Bobby has to lay low with helping Dean. He’d hit the corner, but on nice nights like they’ve had the last few days, there are way too many kids on the street for Dean to be  _ sure _ that he would be chosen. Sure, he’s pretty, but there are less pretty boys who are willing to go further for less money.

So, stealing. Not his first option, but not his worst, either.

He moves along with the crowd, eyes scanning the people around him for a mark. Dean has no idea what the hell he’s doing, he’s bullshitting his way through this, but he knows how to read people.

It’s a skill he picked up (had drilled into him) from John, the ability to separate the gullible from the shrewd, the physically weak from the able, the smart from the not so much. It’s a product of John’s paranoia, which is one of the many,  _ many _ reasons Dean lives his life the way he does, but it does help out in this one aspect, so Dean’s not really complaining.

It makes sure that Dean doesn’t take risks when it comes to stealing. He doesn’t, because Sam can’t take care of himself, twelve just isn’t old enough to do that (Dean doesn’t see the irony in this statement). He makes sure he stays as safe as possible, because God knows John Winchester, all around paranoid alcoholic who Dean only sees about once every three weeks, isn’t going to do it. He’s careful because he has someone else to look after. Dean’s life isn’t his own, it belongs to taking care of Sam.

As he walks and ruminates, he sees his mark.

Tall, taller than Dean, but probably not forever (Dean’s only sixteen, give him a break). He can only see him from the back, but he’s wearing a trench coat that’s nicer than pretty much everything Dean’s wearing, dark slacks, and good dress shoes. He’s got a mess of dark hair that hasn’t even come  _ close _ to being tamed. When the mark turns to look across the street, Dean sees that he’s a knockout,  _ damn, _ though he’s quite a bit older than Dean himself. He doesn’t have gray at his temples yet, but it’s coming. It doesn’t lessen the appeal at all.

The point is, though, that Dean can’t get a read on him. The man may as well be a blank slate when it comes to ticks or tells or  _ anything. _ Which should send alarm bells going off in Dean’s head, but it intrigues him instead. The dude clearly has money,  _ good _ money, if the cell phone he pulls out to check the time on is any indicator. He’s  _ ridiculously _ attractive, aloof, and Dean can’t tell if he’s aware of  _ all _ of his surroundings or none of them at all.

Even with all of that being the case, however, the problem is that there hasn’t been money coming in for about a week now. The cops, and Child Protective Services, have basically staked out Singer’s Tavern, watching for Dean, so he’s had to steer clear completely. Clear enough that he can’t even nab leftovers from the kitchen or the clientele.

John’s been gone for almost a solid month now, so nothing there. There very rarely is.

It’s warm out, the summer weather that drew the fair is also what’s screwing Dean over on the hooker front (heh). There are so many people, boys and girls alike, out on the corners that Dean would barely be able to find a place to stand.

What all of these things mean is that Dean hasn’t eaten in two and a half days. Sam had to skip breakfast this morning before school, which Dean  _ despises _ doing. The rent that Dean doesn’t have the money for is almost due, too.

In short, Dean’s  _ desperate. _

He would normally give this guy a wide,  _ wide _ berth, but he  _ needs _ it. If he can get enough from this guy to not have to risk picking more pockets than strictly necessary, it just means he can get home that much sooner.

He walks casually until he’s closer, damn near on top of the dude. He appears to be kind of lost in his own thoughts, so Dean examines him further. Insanely blue eyes, incredibly handsome face, a mouth made for sinning and dirty talk. Something deep stirs in Dean, something he doesn’t let himself have because there’s no  _ time _ for it. Not when he’s got to dodge cops, make sure John stays alive, and keep Sam fed  _ and _ in school. He tries to tamp it down as much as possible, but it’s persistent this time, the wanting of this man that Dean’s about to rob.

In a different life, Dean would chat him up, flirt with him easily, find out if he’s gay. See if he’s willing to take Dean home and fuck him until it feels like his lungs are going to give out. If Dean really lets his mind wander, he’ll imagine making the guy breakfast the next morning, the guy taking him out to dinner. Watching movies on the guy’s couch, and maybe, maybe, maybe, building a life with this person, this man who looks capable enough to take care of Dean in a way that he’s really never been taken care of before.

Instead, Dean has this life. He’s not going to make anything with this man, he’s going to  _ steal _ from him. He shakes the cobwebs from his head.

When the crowd moves, Dean moves with it. He waits a few minutes, trying to make sure the guy is thoroughly in his own head before casually reaching forward and slipping his hand into the guy’s coat pocket.

Before he can do much more, long, strong fingers wrap around his wrist. He’s been caught.

_ Fuck! _

* * *

Castiel is  _ done _ taking apprentices. It’s not that he doesn’t like the crew he has now. He’s just tired.

Benny is a good kid, charming and likeable. That accent is enough to make women and men alike fall all over themselves to appease him, making them easy targets. Castiel suspects he won’t be in the business for long, however. Benny is too… For lack of a better term, Benny’s too  _ good. _ Benny is also sweet on a baker’s daughter down the street, Andrea, and has been spending most of his time with her. Castiel can see the writing on the wall, probably before even Benny can. Benny isn’t going to be a thief forever.

Garth is… Well, Garth is  _ enthusiastic, _ if nothing else.

Garth gets caught more than any thief Castiel has ever seen in his  _ life, _ but his face is so earnest that no one wants to accuse him in the end. Castiel almost dropped him after the second time he got caught, but something in his gut told him to keep the kid around. He shadowed Garth the next time he went out and just watched. He was absolutely  _ flabbergasted _ when Garth chose a mark, clumsily tried to pull the man’s wallet out of his coat pocket, and was caught almost immediately. The man turned and snapped at Garth, but when confronted with Garth’s affable personality, ended up actually giving the boy a few dollars and walking away happy.

Castiel… Doesn’t know how that works, but it does, so he’s not going to argue with it. Garth will either be in the business for the rest of his life, or he’ll luck out and marry some sort of long-lost heiress. Castiel suspects there will be very little in between.

Kevin is good at it,  _ very _ good. Almost as good as Castiel himself. He’s unobtrusive, unassuming, quiet, and quick. Kevin  _ will _ be in the business forever, though he will probably leave Castiel’s crew and create his own someday. The thought makes Castiel sad, but very proud. Kevin has become an extremely talented thief, and has almost gotten to the point of being able to pull off rooftop jobs with Castiel.

So Castiel is fine. He doesn’t need more apprentices.

Which is why he’s confused as to why he’s here at the fair. He doesn’t like crowds, or fairs, or whatever it is the fair is celebrating (later, Castiel will find out that the most important moment of his life was at a cultural fair, and feel like a bit of a heel). He saw the event advertised in the local paper, and some part of him insisted that he attend.

Now he’s regretting giving into his gut. He could be enjoying a quiet, solitary, late breakfast at home, planning the way he’ll run the crew through their paces this afternoon. Instead, he’s here, a (admittedly unseen) part of this throng of people, where it’s loud and crowded and  _ annoying. _ How incredibly irritating.

Just he’s deciding to go home, he feels a clumsy hand reach into his coat pocket.

For a moment, Castiel is genuinely, utterly  _ shocked. _ Someone… Is trying… To  _ steal from him? _

The next moment, he’s incredibly amused.  _ Someone is trying to steal from me, indeed. _

He lets it go on for a beat, before he circles his fingers around the wrist (bony, probably young) in his pocket. The arm jerks and tries to pull away, but Castiel holds fast. “Oh, no, little one,” he tsks, “you’re coming with me.”

There’s no acknowledgement from the person behind him, but Castiel doesn’t need it. The person behind him is coming with him either way.

He leads the way, hand hard on the wrist in his pocket, to an alley. Once there, deep enough that few will be able to see them, he turns to see his assailant.

He’s young, an older teenager. Light brown hair, probably going to darken as he ages. Castiel notices in what he wishes was a detached manner that the boy is  _ incredibly _ good looking, almost beautiful. Castiel guesses that he will become more rugged as he ages, but he will still be lovely. His green eyes are striking, though they’re wild and scared now.

“Calm down,” Castiel says serenely, addressing the panic first. “What is your name?”

“What? I’m not telling you that!”

Castiel smirks. “Of course you are.”

The boy shakes his head. “No way, dude!”

“Little one, you do not have a choice. You tried to rob me, and while I do not intend to bring the authorities here, if you do not tell me your name, I may be forced to.”

To his surprise, the boy snorts. “Dude, if you were gonna call the cops, you already would have.” The look in his emerald eyes changes from frightened to shrewd. “I think you got some reason to not want the five-o on your ass, either.”

Castiel frowns. “‘Five-o?’”

“The  _ cops, _ man.”

Castiel tilts his head and studies the young man in front of him again, taking in more detailed information in the space of seconds.  _ Secondhand leather jacket, too big for him, probably his father’s. Secondhand clothes, but they fit him better, probably from a thrift store. Dark circles under his eyes, he’s tired. His hands look rough, probably calloused, works for a living. Thin, not emaciated, but certainly doesn’t eat enough. _

_ Dammit. _ “Why were you trying to steal from me?”

The boy blinks. “What?” His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Answer the question.”

His eyes shift to the left. “Just wanted some cash, man, I dunno.”

“Stop calling me ‘man,’ or ‘dude.’ You will address me as sir, little one.” The spark of defiance in those lovely green eyes sets something ablaze in Castiel, but he ignores it for now and speaks before the boy has a chance to. “And do  _ not _ lie to me again, I will not tolerate it. Tell me why you were trying to steal from me.”

The boy’s eyes meet his again, searching, evaluating,  _ weighing _ Castiel on some scale only the boy understands or knows about. Castiel keeps his gaze calmly, confident he will be found worthy.

“My brother,” the boy says roughly. “He’s only twelve, thirteen in a few weeks. He’s gotta eat, and it’s my job to look after him.”

Castiel frowns. “Have you no parents?”

The boy snorts. “None that are gonna take care of us.”

“Why are you stealing? You could get a job.”

“Dude, I’m too young to get a job by six months. I already work at-” he cuts himself off, looking at Castiel, a bit shaken. “Uh, no, I can’t get a job.”

It only takes Castiel a moment to consider all of his options.

Option one, he could summon the authorities, let them take this boy away, and leave his brother to fend for himself in what appears to be an unpleasant home life.

_ No. _

Option two, he could let this boy go. He will probably to haphazardly steal his way to someone  _ else, _ someone who  _ will _ contact the authorities, with the same result as the first option.

_ No. _

Option three, Castiel takes them with him. His gut pulls him hard in this direction.

The thing is, Castiel always follows his instincts. They are what got him through a dirty, crowded childhood, a home with too many mouths to feed. It was easy for Castiel to fade into the background with his quiet demeanor there. He was never abused in any way, but he was quite frequently ignored.

His instincts are what led him through his beginnings in theft. Clumsy, ridiculous attempts at picking pockets in dirty alleys and in front of bars. They are what brought him to Cain, and they’re what told him to let Cain take him home. They were  _ honed _ by Cain, a master at the craft, until they were good enough to surpass Castiel’s teacher himself.

They are what told him it was time to strike out on his own. He woke up one morning in the loft they shared and just  _ knew. _ Cain was understanding but heartbroken, and offered to help him set up in a new city. Castiel refused, but he stays in touch with Cain, loves him dearly.

More importantly, they are what tell Castiel which prodigies to choose.

So, as annoying as they are, Castiel  _ always _ follows his instincts.

He heaves a sigh, irritated at himself. “What is your name?”

“I already told you, man, I’m not-”

Castiel’s free hand whips toward the boy to wrap around the back of his neck and squeeze, just enough to get his attention. He knows that, at some point, this boy will be taller than him. He’s already almost there, for God’s sake. For now, however, Castiel has this advantage. Those delightfully green eyes widen and his breath catches as he cuts himself off mid-sentence.

Castiel lets his voice drop to a deep growl. “I believe you told you not to call me that, little one.”

That defiance is back, though the boy doesn’t try to break his hold. “Why do you get to call me ‘little one,’ then?”

“When you catch my hand in your coat pocket, attempting to steal from you, you are welcome to choose something else to refer to me as. Until then, I believe I asked for your name.”

The boy stares hard at him again, evaluating once more. Castiel lets this happen without comment. He senses that if he pushes again too hard, the boy will fight him, and will refuse Castiel’s offer.

“Dean,” the boy says softly. “It’s Dean, sir.”

Castiel smiles, becoming entranced by the way the boy’s face is open now, vulnerable. He looks much younger than he has in the few minutes that Castiel has known him.

“Thank you, Dean. And what is your brother’s name?”

“I can’t tell you that, ma-” Dean cuts himself off. “I mean, sir, I’d prefer not to tell you that.”

“Dean,” Castiel says patiently, “I’d like to help you and your brother.”

_ “What?” _

“You’re in a bad situation. I happen to be in a position in which I can help you get out of it. You must come with me, however, you  _ and _ your brother. Is leaving your home going to be a problem?”

Dean does try to pull himself back a little bit, but Castiel holds him still. “I can’t just go  _ with _ you, dude! I don’t even know you!”

Castiel thinks about chastising Dean for the slip-up in calling him “dude,” but decides, for now, to address the boy’s concerns.

“Dean, my name is Castiel. You haven’t heard of me, because if you had, you wouldn’t have tried to steal anything from me. I’d like to offer you an extremely valuable opportunity, but it will require that you and your brother come live with me. You will be somewhere safe, warm, and fed.” He examines Dean closely for a moment. “I will make sure you will be able to go to school, should you so desire, but I’m afraid I must insist that your brother continue to attend. You will no longer clumsily pickpocket your way through big crowds, hoping that you do not get caught, nor will you have to continue to do whatever else it is you feel you must do to make money.”

Because Castiel is not naive to the ways of the world, no, or the way the world uses young men who are as good-looking as Dean. This truth usually gives him a sort of absent-minded ache, but when he thinks of Dean giving up his mouth, or the rest of his body, it fills Castiel with a sort of… Painful, anger  _ (possessiveness). _ He would like to be the only one using any part of Dean, but he resolutely pushes that thought down, down, down.

“I can help you become someone great, someone who not only has the ability to take care of himself, but to take care of those he cares about.”

There it is, the spark. Taking care of his brother is what speaks to Dean loudest. Castiel files that tidbit away.

“What do you want, Dean? We can part ways here, never again to see one another. Or you can come with me, and I can change your life. What do you  _ want, _ Dean?”

Castiel waits for the answer he knows he will receive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback, it gets me hot.


	2. Chapter Two

As Dean enters the two bedroom apartment he shares with Sam (and sometimes John) he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

Once he said “yes” to Castiel, the older man told him to go home, pack up his shit, and that he’d meet Dean and Sam here in a few hours. Dean gave him the address, and with a final squeeze to the back of his neck, Castiel was gone, disappeared into the crowd like an illusion. Dean’s still not a hundred percent sure that he  _ wasn’t, _ in fact, an illusion.

He starts in “his” bedroom.

One of the bedrooms is permanently Sam’s. When John is gone, which is eighty-five percent of the time, which is  _ still _ almost not often enough, Dean sleeps in the other one. On the rare nights when their father is there, they keep an air mattress under Sam’s bed for Dean. He hates that, though, because he read a pamphlet once at Sam’s school about how important it is for kids to have their own space. So he keeps out of Sam’s room as much as possible and stores his clothes in an old duffel bag of John’s, trying to take up as little room as possible.

(Dean genuinely doesn’t see anything wrong with this scenario.)

Because of this, it’s easy for him to pack his own things up. He just grabs the bag he always keeps them in, checks to make sure it’s closed, and walks it out to set it next to the front door. He grabs another duffel bag out of the hall closet and goes into Sam’s room.

Dean knows Sam like the back of his hand, so he knows what Sam will want to take, and what he’ll be okay with leaving behind. Dean wants them to leave just enough stuff that John won’t notice that they’re gone immediately. Not that he thinks his father will report them missing, but it pays to be careful. Just because John Winchester has had nothing but disdain for his sons since his wife died doesn’t mean he won’t try to keep them from finding something better.

As he packs Sam’s clothes into the bag, he thinks that the kid is hitting another growth spurt, and he’s going to need to find a way to get him some bigger clothes. He wonders if Castiel will be able to teach him fast enough that he won’t have to hit the street corner this weekend. He sincerely doubts it.

Once he zips up the duffel, he fishes an old backpack of his out of the back of the closet and begins to fill it with Sam’s books. The kid reads like nobody’s business, and Dean has always had trouble keeping him in books and comics, even more trouble than keeping him in clothes that fit. He knows which ones are Sam’s favorites, so he packs them as neatly as possible, as long with a few comics and a couple of knick knacks that Sam keeps on the shelf.

Satisfied that that’s all they’re going to need, he takes the two bags of Sam’s and puts them next to his own, just inside the front door. He looks around the living room and the kitchen, but doesn’t see anything that really means something to either of them.

It’s still a couple of hours until Sam gets home from school, so Dean doesn’t have an excuse to avoid going down to the tavern to talk to Bobby. He locks the door behind him carefully before he goes. It would be just his luck that someone steal all of their stuff the day he’s taking them to live with a thief.

As he makes his way out of the apartment and toward the tavern, Dean thinks about the absolutely insane decision he made this morning.

Everything Dean has done since he was four years old has been for Sam. Since the moment he carried his little brother out of the fire that killed their mother, and still managed to somehow take  _ both _ of their parents from them, Dean has done everything. He made his meals, a six-year-old standing on a chair in front of the stove to cook macaroni and cheese. He shopped for him, making sure that jeans and shirts and jackets fit. He forged permission slips, talked to teachers, gave Sam a curfew, took him to get haircuts, and made sure he did his homework. Dean has tried to be everything for Sam, including  _ careful. _

Not just about the stealing or the hooking, although he’s always most scared that he’s going to fuck up and get caught while doing those. Dean’s careful about keeping any friends he makes at arm’s length, so they don’t know what goes on at home. Hell, he’s careful about the friends that  _ Sam _ has. Luckily, they don’t spend any time at the Winchester’s apartment, per Sam’s request. While Dean’s thinking of consequences when he keeps people away, Sam’s embarrassed by basically their whole life. (It’s something that Dean tries not to take personally. He never asks for clarification, either, because he  _ needs _ to believe that it’s John that Sam’s ashamed of, not Dean himself. If he finds out that’s not the case, it might just kill him.)

Dean is careful about making sure no one is watching too closely as he comes or goes. He’s careful about making sure no one knows he’s not going to school. He’s careful about getting John cleaned up and in bed before Sam gets home as often as he can.

Dean is just…  _ So fucking careful. _

One conversation with an incredibly handsome stranger and, on the outside, it certainly appears like he’s throwing it all out the window. It’s completely out of character for him, and he’s not really looking forward to explaining what’s going on in his head to Sam or Bobby. He knows he has to, he just doesn’t know  _ how. _

_ How _ can he explain how  _ safe _ and  _ secure _ Castiel made him feel, even if just for a few moments? How to explain the way he felt cared about when Castiel put his hand on Dean’s neck, how he wanted to bury his face in the man’s shoulder and let him tell Dean that everything would be okay in that silk over thunder voice? How is he supposed to make them understand that he  _ is _ still being careful, that somehow he just  _ knows _ that going with Castiel is the right thing to do?

That all just sounds like one long, drawn-out chick flick moment, and sorry, but  _ no. _

When he gets to Singer’s Tavern, he’s no closer to figuring out how he’s going to talk to Bobby about this, but it’s now or never. Especially since it’s a fucking ghost town in here (it’s too much for the universe to give him a few extra minutes to get his shit together, huh?) and Bobby has already seen him. He’s waving for Dean to join him in the kitchen. Dean goes obediently, his stomach still in knots.

Bobby’s the only person who  _ knows. _ He knows almost all of the shit John pulls, the disappearing acts and the drinking and the occasional thrown fist. Bobby’s furious about  _ all _ of it. His normally kind eyes cloud with anger when Dean comes in with a split lip, or a blackened eye or cheek. Bobby doesn’t know about every  _ single _ thing, because that knowledge is for Dean and John alone, but Bobby knows most of it. He’s the only person that Dean will feel genuinely bad about leaving behind.

“Hey, kiddo,” Bobby says genially, washing his hands at the big kitchen sink. “Listen, they’re still keeping a real close eye on me, but I can give you some cash if you kids are runnin’ low.”

“Bobby-“

“Now, I know you ain’t a fan of handouts, but if it’s that big a bug up your ass, you can pay me back.”

Guilt clogs Dean’s chest as he looks at the only adult who gives a damn about him.  _ Shit. _ “Bobby, no, it’s… Not about that. I mean, it kinda is, but I don’t need money.” He takes a deep breath.  _ Like ripping off a Band-Aid. _ “I came to let you know that you won’t be seeing much of us for a while. I dunno how long.”

Bobby’s face is completely unreadable now as he stares at Dean. He tries not to fidget under the hard gaze.

“That so?” Bobby deadpans.

“Look, I got… An offer. For a job. Kinda.”

Bobby slowly crosses his arms and leans back against the sink. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me about this job offer you got?”

Dean runs a hand through his hair, anxiety making his stomach roll. “I dunno how to say this, Bobby. You’re gonna think this is stupid.”

“Try me.”

So Dean spends a few quick minutes detailing what happened this morning. It’s kind of like in those cartoons where the main character is in a barrel and he  _ knows _ he’s headed toward the waterfall, but there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. Dean’s that cartoon character, and for all of his desperate flailing and half-assed explanations, he’s going down that waterfall.

Bobby’s face has smoothed out completely, unreadable again as he listens. Dean finally gets himself to  _ shut the hell up _ and just stares back, hoping against hope that Bobby’s not going to tear him a new one.

“And you don’t know this fella?”

“No, sir.”

“Never met him before.”

“No, sir.”

“Cas-tee-elle, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bobby rubs his whiskery chin hard. “You tellin’ me the whole truth, boy?”

Dean feels his eyebrows go up in surprise. “What, this isn’t ridiculous enough for you?”

Bobby’s still looking him in the eye, looking for something that Dean doesn’t understand. “And you’re sure he don’t want  _ anything _ from you for this…  _ Charity _ of his?”

Realization dawns. “Oh, God! Bobby, no! No, he doesn’t…  _ Want _ anything, Jesus. The hell kinda girl do you take me for?” Levity is his only defense, because Bobby’s not letting up on the laser eyes thing.

“I just know that you’d do some real stupid,  _ dangerous _ shit to take care of Sam. I’m just makin’ sure someone’s lookin’ out for you, too.”

Dean can feel his face heat up as he blushes. As much as he wants to protest that he wouldn’t do that, that he wouldn’t sell himself to some dude to keep Sammy safe… That’s precisely what he does when he goes out onto the street, isn’t it? So, yeah, if that’s what Castiel was offering, Dean would agree in a heartbeat, and not just because Castiel stepped straight out of the wet dreams Dean used to have.

“That’s what I thought,” Bobby says grimly.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Dean grouses.

“I want to meet this guy,” Bobby says suddenly.

“What?”

“I want to meet him. Size him up for myself. Make sure he’s not takin’ you for a ride.”

“Aw, Bobby, you don’t-“

“This ain’t a negotiation, Dean,” Bobby says firmly, steel in his voice. “I’m meetin’ him, or I’m callin’ the cops the second I know he’s at your place.”

Dean glares, but there’s very little heat behind it. He barely wants to admit it, but he’s glad that someone else, someone he trusts, will meet Castiel, too. Dean knows he wasn’t taken in by good looks and blue eyes, but it will be nice to have some confirmation that Castiel has the right intentions, at least where Dean and Sam are concerned.

“Fine, I’ll ask.”

* * *

Sam Winchester knows  _ exactly _ how lucky he is to have Dean.

He knows that not everyone gets a big brother like his. Sam goes to a pretty big high school, one that has its fair share of kids from bad home lives, so Sam sees daily how much Dean does for him. He knows how much Dean sacrifices for him, and he thinks that Dean probably hasn’t even told him everything that he does to make sure that Sam gets what he needs.

Unfortunately, Sam is also almost thirteen years old, and he’s just been told that Dean wants them to move in with a  _ stranger he met in an alley this morning. _

It takes Sam a few moments to process what Dean just said.  _ “What?” _

“I know it’s a little unusual,” Dean says, red-faced, a hand gripping the back of his neck, “I just think that this is probably the best thing for us-“

 _“Us?”_ Just like that, Sam is _pissed._ _“Us?_ Were you even thinking about _us?_ Dean, what the fuck is this?”

“Sam,” there’s a pleading note in Dean’s voice that Sam ignores. “Come on, man, you  _ know _ I was thinking about-“

“So, what, you’re pulling me out of school so we can follow some  _ guy _ you found on the street?” He makes sure to put enough of a sneer in his voice for Dean to catch his meaning. Not that Sam has a problem with Dean being gay. Hell, Dean’s never brought a guy over, nor had a guy meet Sam, so it hasn’t affected his life whatsoever, but fear and panic are making him want to hurt Dean as much as he himself is hurting.

It hits the mark. Dean winces. “Sam, look, it’s an opportunity-“

Sam snorts. “Yeah, an opportunity to think with your  _ dick. _ I cannot  _ believe _ you’re dragging me away from here just so you can get laid.”

Dean visibly pales, and Sam regrets the words immediately. He knows that Dean would  _ never _ put his sex life ahead of Sam. Hell, Sam knows that there’s  _ nothing _ Dean would put over his welfare.  _ Dammit. _ “Dean, I-“

“No, no, I get it,” Dean says, the tiny tremble at the end of the words probably only noticeable if one knows Dean as well as Sam knows him. “Look, Sammy, I know I’m the stupid one. I know that you’re the smart one, and that you’re the one that’s going places, but  _ I _ gotta make sure you get there. So I just need you to trust-“

Dean’s explanation, and Sam’s subsequent apology and protest that Dean is not “the stupid one” are both interrupted by a sharp knocking at the door. Somehow, Dean seems to tense up and completely relax at the same time. There’s pretty obvious relief shining in his eyes when he answers the door before Sam can say a word.

The man standing in their entryway is… Well, Sam was expecting a little more from someone who has captured Dean’s interest so thoroughly.

He’s taller than Sam, but Dean assures Sam that he’ll be taller than everybody, so  _ that’s _ fine. The guy’s got dark, messy hair, what is probably perpetual stubble, and laser blue eyes that flick over Sam briefly before zeroing in on Dean.

“Dean,” the man says, his voice warm and gravelly and deep. “Is this your brother?”

Dean nods and steps back. “Yeah, ma-… Uh, sir. Yes, this is Sam.”

The eyes come back to land on Sam, and he’s officially just a little intimidated. “Sam,” the man says, “my name is Castiel. I’d like to help you and your brother, if you’d let me.”

* * *

Castiel immediately approves of the way Sam’s hazel eyes narrow in suspicion. The skinny  _ (too skinny, they both are, they need to be fed before Dean goes out, and before I get my hands on- No, no, bad Castiel) _ teenager crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Castiel.

“Why?”

Castiel tilts his head to examine the boy further. It’s clear that Sam doesn’t trust him, which is smart. He can also feel the tension in the air, the boys were clearly arguing when he got here. He curses himself for not waiting outside the door and listening, but immediately moves on from the thought. What’s done is done.

There’s also nervous tension  _ radiating _ from Dean, who’s practically vibrating at Castiel’s side, eyes flicking from him to Sam. Almost without thought, Castiel reaches up to place a gentle hand on the back of Dean’s neck, identical to the way he held on in the alley. He feels Dean relax beneath the touch, and files the information away for further use.  _ (Not to be used in your spank bank, _ he scolds himself.)

“I have a sharp instinct about people,” Castiel says smoothly. “I believe that your brother is singularly suited toward my line of work, and I’d like to help him achieve his full potential. To do so, I would, of course, be more than happy to assist you in your studies, as well.”

The surprised tense of Dean’s neck beneath his palm and the way Sam’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline confirm Castiel’s suspicions. Dean is rarely made a priority. In his interactions with Dean earlier this morning, it was made clear to Castiel that Dean’s world revolves around Sam, which is admirable. Castiel, however, does not intend to make his relationship with Dean  _ (a student-teacher relationship, for God’s sake, he’s sixteen!) _ revolve around anything but Dean himself. He knows now, based on their reactions, that this will be something new for the both of them.

“The work I do is extremely in-depth, and requires a particular setup to engage in. I happen to have everything we need to do so in my home, and there’s plenty of space for you to live there, as well.”

“Why can’t we stay here?”

Castiel takes a look around the dingy apartment, making sure to keep any judgement or negative emotions off of his face. “I can certainly make sure you’re able to stay here, if you prefer, but I live in a stellar school district, and would be able to care for the two of you much more easily if you came with me.” He shrugs. “Either way, the choice is yours.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Dean look at Sam. From there, he’s able to witness a silent conversation happen between brothers. It’s over in a matter of seconds, and it’s conducted exclusively with facial expressions and body language. It’s fascinating.

“Well, you’re not going without me,” Sam insists, and Castiel is fascinated again when Dean’s face blushes bright red.  _ How charming, _ he thinks, a bit dazedly, to himself.

“God dammit, Sam, of course I’m not,” Dean mutters, face glowing in embarrassment. Castiel fights not to imagine that blush travelling down his neck, his chest, to his-

_ No, _ he tells himself firmly. He’s usually much better controlled than this. The boy might  _ actually _ be making him crazy.

“Well, then,” he’s grateful that his voice is as steady as ever, “that’s settled. Have you packed your things?”

Now Dean’s green eyes are on Castiel again, and he reminds himself firmly that this boy is a minor, and the things that he’s thinking are very illegal. “Uh, yeah,” Dean says, his blush still prominent. “I just, uh… Do you mind if we make a stop?”

* * *

After they drop the bags off at his car, Castiel is both intrigued and irritated as he enters Singer’s Tavern behind Sam and Dean.

He’s intrigued because he’s never had someone care enough about the people he takes in to  _ meet _ him. Kevin and Garth are both orphans, and Benny’s mother was more interested in where her next hit of whatever narcotic she was hooked on then was coming from than where her only son was going. This will be new territory for Castiel.

He’s irritated at himself because there is a part of him that wants to stand up straight, address this Mr. Singer as “sir,” and generally act like he’s meeting the parent of a romantic prospect, which is  _ ridiculous. _ He is an adult, he will conduct himself as such, and he will get this  _ wanting _ of Dean under control as soon as possible. For God’s sake, he just met the boy this morning and he’s already obsessing over him.

He pushes his thoughts aside when he meets the eyes of a gruff older man over the heads of the patrons scattered throughout the building. He knows immediately that this is the person he’s here to meet.

_ Older, looks tired, probably gets here early and stays late. Looks angry, probably protective of the boys, already doesn’t like me. _

The man gestures for the three of them to follow him to the kitchen, so Sam takes the lead and they obey. Castiel brings up the rear and tries very hard not to watch the way Dean moves in front of him.

When they get to the kitchen, Bobby turns to face them. “So you’re the guy who wants to… ‘Teach’ Dean.”

The implication behind the words makes Castiel raise an eyebrow even as Dean sputters.  _ “Jesus, _ Bobby, what the hell? He’s not-“

“It’s quite all right, Dean,” Castiel interrupts. He turns to Bobby. “I appreciate that someone is keeping such a close eye on Sam and Dean. I want nothing but the best for them, truly.”

Bobby doesn’t soften. “And what, exactly, are you intendin’ to ‘teach’ him?”

The implication again. “I intend to teach him the ways of my profession.”

“Uh-huh. ‘Profession.’”

Castiel smirks. Bobby Singer is a smart man. “Indeed.”

Sam is frowning.  _ “What _ profession?”

“I will not speak of it here,” Castiel says simply. “There are too many people who could overhear. When we get to my home, we can discuss it in depth, if you like.”

“Oh, yeah, we’re  _ definitely _ discussing,” Sam grumbles under his breath.

Castiel ignores him to focus again on Bobby. “I was told you wanted to meet so you could put your stamp of approval on the move. Do we have it?”

Bobby doesn’t answer, just keeps his weighty gaze on Castiel. He returns it evenly, not giving a thing away. Although, he can see how Bobby would be a good parent. If Castiel were a much lesser man, and if he had not had to stare Cain down like this many a time, he would feel the urge to break under that look, to reveal his secrets in hopes that confessing would lessen his punishment.

Now, however, he’s much more used to doling out punishments than receiving them, so he is mostly unaffected.

A small eternity later, Bobby sighs. “Where you takin’ them?”

Castiel deliberates for just a moment. There is no harm in giving this man this information. “I live on the South Side. The apartment complex on Angel Boulevard.”

Now, here is a bit of vulnerability in the older man’s eyes. “Can I see ‘em?”

Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Of course.”

Dean’s head whips around. “Really?”

Castiel frowns. “Why would I ask you to avoid people who care about you?” He never intended for them to be cut off from family. He never intends  _ any _ of his charges to be cut off from their families, it just so happens that most of them don’t have anyone they want to stay in contact with, anyway. Castiel’s crew has become its own family, but he has no reason to keep Dean and his brother from this man who clearly cares deeply for them.

Dean blushes again. “I dunno… I guess I just assumed-“

“Dean watches too many spy movies,” Sam says frankly.

Dean smacks his brother upside the back of his head. “Shut up, bitch.”

“Make me, jerk!”

Castiel smiles, listening to them argue in hissed whispers. It doesn’t remind him of his own siblings, since he was never this close to any of them, but it’s still pleasant to witness.

He looks over at Bobby, and sees that he’s being measured again, and he seems to have been found sufficient.

“All right,” Bobby says gruffly. “But keep your cells on you, boys. I want to keep in touch.”

“Sure, Bobby, no problem,” Dean says easily.

Castiel looks outside, where the early spring still makes the days end too soon. “You are more than welcome to come back, gentlemen,” he says evenly, looking back to Sam and Dean, “but I’d prefer to introduce you to the rest of the crew and show you where you’ll be staying before the day ends.”

Sam sighs. “This is all so crazy,” he says ruefully, but he turns to lead the way out of the restaurant.

Castiel smiles. Sam is a flexible child, it seems, if it has only taken about an hour for him to go from fighting with his brother to resigning himself to his fate. Castiel thinks he’ll get along well with Kevin.

Dean shoots Castiel a shy smile as he follows Sam out, which damn near kills Castiel. He’s still having a hard time bringing his mind out of the gutter when Bobby clears his throat.

It’s only years of practice that keeps Castiel from flushing guiltily. He looks back at the man who’s essentially the father of the boy he was just undressing with his eyes. Bobby is just staring at him again, there’s no heat or anger there.

“I’m trustin’ you to keep those boys safe,” the man says gruffly. “Closest thing I got to kids, and I might not know what this ‘profession’ is, but I can tell you that I don’t mind trackin’ you down and kickin’ your ass, should something happen to them.”

Castiel smiles.  _ I’m getting threatened by the boy’s father after all, romantic intentions or no. _ “I expected nothing less,” he says smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Can we all just get together and pretend that, realistically, sometimes people let sixteen-year-olds take their twelve-year-old brothers away with handsome older gentlemen? Thanks. And if you think it's weird that Bobby just let them go, there will be explanations later.  
> \- Feedback, it gets me hot.


	3. Chapter Three

Dean cannot  _ believe _ how well that went. He’s not even ashamed of the way he’s kind of staring Cas in awe as the man leads back them to his car a few blocks away.

He doesn’t know what he thought would happen, but it wasn’t this easy transition. Beside him, Sam’s walk is loose-limbed and easy. Sam’s always been a laid-back kid, but his quick acceptance of the situation before him thrills Dean. It signifies  _ trust, _ it means that Sam has faith in Dean to make these decisions for them. Oh, sure, the reminder that Sam’s the smart one, the important one, it stung a little, but it’s not like Dean’s never been reminded before. And as long as he’s taking care of his little brother like he’s supposed to, Dean’s all right with coming up in second place.

It was… Weird, to say the least, when Cas implied that the reason he wants Dean and Sam around was because of… Well, because of  _ Dean. _ That… Doesn’t make any sense. In his head, he understands that Cas would have had no way to know about Sam, or how smart Sam is, or how much  _ better _ Sam is, since the only one of them they saw was Dean himself. It’s just… It’s just that, even  _ after _ Cas saw Sam, he still made it sound like Dean was the reason he’s doing any of this. He even put his hand on the back of Dean’s neck again, like he wanted to comfort Dean.

And, okay, it’s not like Dean’s  _ never _ received reassurance or comfort before. Bobby’s been great, and ever since Dean and Sam were little, he was the one they’d seek out when they needed an adult. As he got older, Dean’s gotten comfort from partners, one-night stands and flings. Not long-term comfort, and definitely not meaningful, but it’s not like Dean has been  _ without _ any sort of kind touch.

It’s just that… It’s that when Cas touches him, just that big, warm palm on Dean’s neck, thumb running absentmindedly through the hair at his nape, it feels like it’s because Cas thinks that Dean’s  _ worth _ something, like maybe he could  _ care _ about Dean. It’s silly, and not something that Dean’s holding out for. He knows his place in the world, and it’s to get Sammy off to bigger and better things. Maybe once Sam is settled in whatever big-time career he wants, Dean can worry about himself. Until then, it’s a no-go, and God knows Cas isn’t gonna wait around that long.

Dean’s okay with that. It’s just a little fantasy he has, that Cas might care about him, or take care of him, or maybe make it so Dean doesn’t feel so tired and weighed down and a little bit scared all the time. He knows it’s not realistic, so he doesn’t put stock into it. It’s just nice to think about.

He’s thinking so hard about these things that he almost runs straight into Cas when the man stops on the sidewalk. Internally shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he looks up to see that Cas’ body language has changed, subtly but absolutely. He’s shifted so that he’s shielding the Winchesters, keeping them behind him. Dean’s first instinct, which he follows, is to grab Sam and shove him behind himself. His second instinct, which he also follows, is to assess the threat, and the only way to do that is to peek over Cas’ shoulder.

A curvaceous woman stands in front of them, one hand on her hip, the other twirling a lock of her fiery red hair around a finger. She’s smirking, but there’s no friendliness in the gesture. Her eyes are cold and almost  _ lifeless, _ and they’d be completely blank without the sort of unstable anger they seem to be radiating at Castiel.

Cas, for his part, has stilled, but shows no outward signs of hostility. “Abaddon,” he says smoothly.

“Castiel,” she purrs. “It’s been so  _ long, _ darling.”

“Oh, I don’t know, it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been long enough.” It’s the first sign at all that Cas isn’t happy to see this woman.

She pouts. “Aw, is someone still sore over Boston?”

Cas doesn’t react at all. “What do you want?”

“What makes you think I want anything?”

“Because you’re a sociopath who does nothing if she does not have a reason.”

She sighs. “Oh, Castiel, always the flair for the dramatic.”

“Yes. I’ve always been told that I’m too flamboyant,” Cas deadpans.

A brilliant smile blossoms on her face. It would warm her up if it looked like she meant it at all. “Oh, Cassie, dear, it’s so  _ good _ to see you again. I’m so very  _ glad _ I ran into you. I’ve moved into town, and I’m delighted that you’re the first to know!”

“Abaddon,” Cas says severely, ignoring her sarcasm. “Do not do anything stupid while you are here.”

Her happy, simpering demeanor drops in an instant, and Dean realizes that this woman is a barracuda, a wolf among sheep, a goddamn shark. She’s  _ crazy. _

She takes a step forward, and Dean tenses when she gets up in Cas’ face. He wants to step in, to intervene, but before he can do any such thing, he feels Cas’ fingers brush against his own. It’s a simple touch, and just for a moment, but it gets the message across perfectly. Dean stays where he is, fuming.

Abaddon’s pretty face is marred with a sneer. “I will do  _ whatever _ I goddamn please,  _ Castiel.  _ Your precious  _ Cain _ isn’t here to protect you anymore.”

“He was just as important to you as he was to me. And I seem to recall being able to take care of myself quite effectively.”

The sneer becomes more pronounced. “Oh, I don’t think  _ any _ of us were as close with him as  _ you _ were, Cassie.”

Cas takes a deep breath, but it seems like he’s just gathering his patience instead of being alarmed. “What do you  _ want, _ you vile woman?”

She smiles again, and again, it doesn’t soften her face at all. “Oh, I want  _ so _ many things. But the first thing I’m going to do is to take this town from you. And then,” her eyes shift to meet Dean’s, and he takes a moment to be so,  _ so _ glad that Sam’s hidden behind him, “I’m going to take all of your little ‘charity cases’ away from you.”

Cas doesn’t even bat an eye. “I’m sure that’s what you think will happen,  _ Abbie.” _ The condescension in his voice, and his words, shouldn’t be such a turn on. Dean has a problem. “What is actually going to happen is this.” He leans forward, so he’s almost whispering in her ear, but Dean can hear every word. “You may come here, and you may work here. This city is plenty big enough for both of us. However, and I’d like you to pay attention here, Abbie, if you lay a finger on one of my charges, you will  _ never _ stop regretting it. Our work isn’t the only thing I learned from Cain. Have I made myself crystal clear?”

Satisfaction, fear, and rage flash in Abbadon’s eyes in turn as Cas talks. When he’s done, she leans back and beams a smile at him. “It was just  _ so lovely _ to speak with you again, Castiel. We simply  _ must _ catch up the very  _ moment _ we have a chance.”

Castiel just stares her down. “I would rather lay siege to hell than speak with you again, Abaddon. You have your warning. I would heed it, were I you.”

She sneers again before turning to sashay away. Dean can feel that his eyes are wide and that he’s pale as he stares after her.

“Cas,” he croaks, barely stopping himself from saying something less formal in time. “What the  _ fuck _ was that?”

“Language, Dean,” Cas sighs, but it’s pretty obvious that his heart’s not in it. He doesn’t start forward again, but he glances over to where Dean has moved to stand next to him. Sam stands on the other side, and they watch her walk away together.

“The man who taught me the craft,  _ our _ craft,” he says, eyes sliding to Dean for a beat before returning to the retreating figure. “He had several students. Cain was normally a… Very good judge of character, but he made a mistake when he took Abaddon on. Her story was tragic, and she needed someone to help her, but make no mistake, boys. Sometimes, when someone’s life has been hard, it… Warps them, makes it difficult for them to think like others do. It may not be their fault, but remember that just because someone’s past has been difficult doesn’t mean that they deserve sympathy in our present.”

Dean whistles low. “Damn, Cas. What’d she do?”

A beat of hesitation. “A story for another time, perhaps.” Cas straightens a little bit, which makes Dean realize that he was crouched, just a little bit, in defense of he and Sam. “Make sure to avoid her, boys. If you see her or she approaches you, leave immediately and come to find me. Understand?”

Dean ignores the little thrill of heat that goes up his spine at the steel in Cas’ voice. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

When they get to the apartment building that Cas and his crew live in, it’s taking all of Dean’s willpower to not fidget in the passenger seat of the pimp-mobile that Cas calls a car. He tried to give the seat to Sam, both because he would prefer Sam be the first priority here  _ and _ to hide his own nervousness, but Cas would have none of it  _ (“Get in the front, Sammy.” “Actually, Sam, I would appreciate it if you sat in the back. Dean, get in the passenger seat.”). _ Which would be fine, except that it made the whole ride awkward as hell for Dean. The restraint it required to keep himself from reaching over and touching Cas was monumental. The result is that he’s a little jumpy when they pull into the parking garage.

“Do you have a car?” Cas asks, his deep, rolling voice carrying easily in the quiet garage.

Dean shakes his head. “Nope.” At Cas’ raised eyebrow, Dean feels himself blush a little. “Sir,” he adds hastily.

Sam frowns as he pulls the bags out of the trunk. “What about the Impala?”

“That’s Dad’s, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that,” his little brother replies immediately, then he frowns again. “And it’s more yours than his.”

Dean sighs. Another fight they’ve had so often that their lines are practically scripted, rehearsed, set in stone. A fight he doesn’t particularly want to have in front of Cas. “No, it’s not, and we’re not doing this again right now, hear me?” When Sam opens his mouth to argue, Dean frowns and points a finger at him. “I’m serious, Sam, not right now.”

The stubborn scowl on his brother’s face makes Dean worry that he’s not going to drop it for a moment, but Sam finally just grabs his bags with a huff and turns to Cas, clearly ready to go. Dean’s relieved, but he’s also kind of embarrassed that it happened in front of Cas. To cover, he grabs his bag and turns to meet the older man’s gaze head on, trying to control his blush.

“Lead on, sir.”

* * *

As he leads them through the garage, Castiel can’t help but file quickly through everything he’s learned about the Winchesters in the last few minutes.

For one, their father is a sore spot, but Mr. Singer is not.  _ Interesting. _

Second, his first assumption was correct. Sam is the golden child, at least in Dean’s eyes. Sam seems to be a bit more reluctant about that particular train of thought, but Dean clearly lives by making sure Sam comes first.  _ Infuriating, but also interesting. _ Because, again, Castiel has no intention of putting Sam first. Oh, yes, he’s sure that the younger man is bright, and his instincts tell him that he could grow to be quite the thief someday, but Sam is not who Castiel is interested at  _ all. _ Quick as Sam might be, both intellectually and with his fingers, Castiel’s focus is solely on Dean.

Something about Dean tells Castiel that he could not only be good, but he could be  _ spectacular. _ He could rival the greats, should he get the proper training and care. His name could be whispered amidst names like Asa Fox, Daniel Elkins, and Cain himself, when the few people who know those particular names whisper them at all. There will come a time when Dean can flash those beautiful green eyes, curve his lips into that shy smile, and the world will eat out of the palm of his hand.

This is why Castiel can’t let himself fall prey to those charms. Because not only will Dean be good, probably better than Castiel, even, but Dean  _ deserves _ it. His good heart and pure soul shine from him like a beacon. It’s so painfully obvious that Dean is a good, selfless person. That kind of light, Castiel knows, can attract darkness, both from those who covet it and from those who seek to corrupt it. Castiel doesn’t know which category he falls into  _ (oh, oh, you lie, oh Castiel, do not lie to yourself, you covet the boy so badly you can hardly breathe around it, he’s beautiful and you’re terrible, leave him be, do not think about how he will look on your bed or taste on your tongue), _ but he is determined to protect Dean from those who would do him harm.

Only, of course, because of what a good thief Dean will be someday.

_ (Oh, Castiel, do not lie to yourself.) _

He shakes his thoughts away as they get to the elevator, irritated with his lack of focus. He pushes the button for the top floor when the doors close. He examines the boys in the reflection, and is not surprised at all to find both of them staring right back at him.

“I own all of the apartments on the top floor,” he says in response to their gazes. “You will be granted one to share. There are three other boys in the crew. They each have their own apartments.” Cas nods to the younger Winchester. “You’ll be granted your own when you come of age, should you choose to stay with us. Until then, I must insist that you live with Dean.”

Dean’s eyes are wide. “Like… A whole apartment?”

“Indeed. You’ll have the one across the hall from my own, as our side of the building has two-bedroom layouts as opposed to the one-bedrooms the rest of the crew require.”  _ And so it will be easier for me to lure you to my own bed and- No! No! Get a hold of yourself! _

Luckily, Sam’s excited hazel eyes are enough to distract Castiel from his own treacherous thoughts. “Two bedrooms?!” He smacks Dean on the arm. “Dude!”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean says hastily, but he softens and smiles at Sam’s raised eyebrows. “Yeah, yeah, it’ll be all right, just don’t piss yourself, princess.”

Sam grins at his big brother, and Castiel feels a strange warmth in his chest as he watches them interact. He tells himself it’s just budding fondness, and that no part of it is envy. Because that would be ridiculous. Because that would mean that he’s envious of Sam and his interactions with Dean, and Castiel doesn’t want any more interactions with Dean.

_ Lying to yourself. _

Right.

Castiel clears his throat as the elevator reaches their floor. “The apartment at the very end of our hall is one that we all use. I’ll get you the keys to your apartment now, and keys to the communal space by tomorrow, as they must be made.” He walks into the hall, confident the boys will follow. Hurried footsteps behind him reward his surety.

He goes to the big shared apartment first, unlocking it and sweeping inside ahead of Sam and Dean. The first thing he sees is Benny standing in the big, open kitchen, in front of a pot full of something that smells incredible. The boy turns around and grins, his ice blue eyes crinkling at the corners, his already ridiculously full beard bunching up.

“Heya, boss.”

Castiel nods. “Benny.” He steps in to let Dean and Sam come in behind him. “This is Dean and Sam Winchester.”

Unless one knows Benny very well, one wouldn’t see the way his shoulders tighten infinitesimally, but Castiel  _ does _ know Benny very well, and it’s obvious to him.

“They joinin’ the crew?”

“Dean will be. It remains to be seen if Sam will do the same. Until then, he will be attending school.”

Benny gives the Winchesters a long, searching look. It’s insolent, but Castiel lets it slide. The crew is less like a band of thieves and more like a family, at least for the boys, despite the fact that it wasn’t necessarily what Castiel intended to do. They are important to him, of course, but the connections they’ve all formed to one another are entirely their own. They are very close knit.

Which is why Benny is sizing them up this way. It’s unusual for Castiel to bring someone back without speaking to his crew first, much less two people.

Sam, as smart as he is, doesn’t seem to have noticed the other boy’s appraisal. He’s looking around the apartment, eyes wide with wonder, drinking in every detail.

Each apartment, even this shared one, is fully furnished with sturdy but high quality furniture. His boys will be less likely to wander, or do something stupid, if they have something nice to come home to, Castiel has found.

He also suspects that young Sam is looking for clues as to what Castiel’s profession is. He won’t find any, but Castiel is glad to see him trying to protect his brother like this, probably the only way he can. Even more probably, the only way Dean will let him. So Sam hasn’t yet noticed Benny’s scrutiny.

Dean, on the other hand, is meeting it head on. He’s looking back coolly, like he has nothing to prove at all. There’s quiet strength and defiance in the way Dean stands there, his one duffel (compared to Sam’s two, don’t think Castiel didn’t notice) over his shoulder. Here, with Sam to protect, be it from physical danger or simple derision, Dean is in his element. There’s no trace of the vulnerability that Castiel knows is beneath on his young  _ (lovely) _ face.

It’s a few moments before the tension on Benny’s features relaxes into a much more genuine smile. “Well, the more the merrier. Come on in, dinner’s ready.”

Castiel finds himself relaxing, too. He is… Strangely invested in the crew’s acceptance of the Winchesters, and if Benny approves it will smooth much of the way for them. Castiel finds himself wanting this to be as simple a transition as possible for them.

He’s starting to get truly angry with his own inability to be impartial when it comes to these boys  _ (just one boy, really just the one). _ It’s ridiculous, and if he doesn’t get it under control, it’s going to become problematic. He ruthlessly reins himself in, turning his attention back to the room.

As he does so, he realizes that the silence has gone on just a beat too long. He straightens. “Will the others be home for dinner?” He ignores the quizzical look on Dean’s face, the calculating one on Sam’s, and the damnably knowing twinkle in Benny’s eye.

Mercifully, the Cajun says nothing. “Yessir. Garth’s probably already home, and Kev’s due back from the library any second.”

* * *

Dean is sure that what he’s experiencing is culture shock. Because not only is he sitting down at a huge table with a  _ very _ well home cooked meal in his  _ very _ full belly, the people sitting at the table with him seem… Happy?

Family dinners at the Winchester household are  _ nothing _ like this.

Despite the initial visual shakedown, Benny’s good people. There’s kindness in his eyes and in his booming laugh. He seems to be the oldest of the crew, besides Cas, and he’s one hell of a cook. Plus, anyone who feeds Sammy full to bursting like Benny just did is definitely on Dean’s good side. He’s sitting across from Dean, arms crossed and laughing at something that Garth’s said.

Garth is… Well, Garth’s something  _ else. _ He’s a real happy dude, but it doesn’t seem out of place. Garth’s optimism is a nice complement to Benny’s big, steadying presence and Kevin’s soft-spoken brilliance.

Kevin really  _ is _ a genius. As soon as introductions were made, he asked Sam what he’d like to study for, and the two of them were off to nerdville. Dean is fiercely glad that there’s someone here who puts Sam at ease.

Then there’s Cas.

Dean is discovering more and more that he has  _ no fucking idea _ what to make of Castiel. Oh, he’s not regretting his decision at all. He’s just had a few moments to really  _ think, _ and he has no idea what Cas’ endgame is. What does he actually want with Dean? Sure, as long as he takes care of Sam, it doesn’t really matter what happens to Dean, he’d just like to know what’s in store.

He also isn’t sure if there’s any significance to where he’s sitting, which is directly to Cas’ right. He wouldn’t think anything of it, honestly, but there was a  _ moment _ when they were sitting down. Benny pointed out the places he wanted Dean and Sam to sit. Dean caught Cas giving Benny an unreadable look, to which Benny just grinned cheekily. Cas sat down stiffly, and though Kevin looked surprised when he came in, he didn’t seem upset at being moved down the table.

Even as the thoughts are circling in his mind, he sees Sam yawn for the third time in ten minutes out of the corner of his eye. When he turns, his little brother is rubbing one of his eyes hard. It makes him look a lot younger than his almost thirteen years.

Dean turns back to Cas to ask about their room, but the older man is already pushing his chair out to stand. “I’m going to show Sam and Dean to their apartment so they can get settled in.”

Garth’s face contorts almost comically. “Oh, man! Y’all should have said something! Y’all must be exhausted!”

Dean smiles at the genuine nature that makes up Garth. “Yeah, I’m a little beat. Sam?”

Sam nods. “I’m pretty tired.”

Castiel is standing and nodding to Benny. “Thank you for cooking.”

Benny nods back, his eyes still twinkling with a shared secret. “No problem, boss.”

Cas scowls, but motions for Dean and Sam to follow him. “If you’ll gather your things and meet me at the front door, I’ll get the keys to your apartment.”

They grab their bags obediently and wait at the front door for Cas. When he joins them, he has two keys in hand, dangling off of simple rings. He hands one to each of them. “These are to your apartment. If you lose them, it’s all right, I’ll just need to know absolutely as soon as possible.”

They nod and follow him out. Dean’s still feeling a little dazed by the whole thing as Cas leads them down the hall. This morning, he woke up thinking about how they were out of eggs and out of money. Now he’s following someone who’s possibly the most attractive human being he’s ever seen to the home that same guy is bankrolling for them so that Dean can work for him and Sam can go to school. He’s also just eaten the first, even  _ abundant, _ meal that he can remember having in quite a while, maybe years. They’re somewhere that’s presumably safe, warm, and away from their father.

What the everloving fuck?

Cas stops in front of a door and unlocks it with a third set of keys from his pocket. “I’m the only other person who will have a key, which is for safety reasons, nothing else.” He meets each of their gazes individually before he opens the door. “I will, for no reason, enter your domain without your express permission. This space is yours, both of you, and can be utilized however you see fit. Is that clear?”

Dean nods, and Cas opens the door.

The apartment is similar to the one they ate dinner in, but it’s a little bigger. There’s a big living room area, a decent-sized kitchen, the front hall that they’re all currently gathered in, and three doors off of the main rooms.

Cas points to each door in turn. “There’s a bedroom there, the bathroom in the middle, and another bedroom there. There are some dry groceries in the cabinets, but we’ll go to the market tomorrow to get whatever else you need. There are towels for the bathroom and sheets for the beds in the linen closet.” He smiles at each of them. “I will leave you to get settled. Please don’t hesitate to come get me if you need anything.”

Despite his words, he stands next to Dean and watches as Sam excitedly looks around the apartment, his earlier weariness apparently forgotten. He turns back and grins, his hazel eyes shining. “Dude! This is  _ awesome!” _

Dean’s heart thuds in his chest as it lifts. It isn’t often he gets to see Sam this uncaringly  _ happy. _ The kid is zooming around, opening doors, practically bouncing, and something in Dean aches at the sight.

“Cas,” he says softly, still watching his brother. “Can I, uh, see you outside for a second?”

Cas’ eyebrows go up in surprise. “Of course, Dean.”

* * *

_ This is it. He’s going to ask you how you can be such a pervert, of course he’s seen the way you’ve been looking at him, you’re damn near a stalker, he’s going to ask what the hell you- _

The door clicking shut behind them interrupts his thoughts, and he gathers himself to look over at the young man standing next to him.

Dean’s chewing on his lip  _ (dear God in heaven, lend me strength), _ looking down at the ground so Castiel can’t see his eyes. His hands are held behind his back, a bit awkwardly around the duffle bag still slung over his shoulder. He looks, for all intents and purposes, like he’s about to  _ apologize. _

There’s a tense silence, then Dean lets out a sharp exhale and rubs the back of his neck. His eyes flick up to Castiel’s. “Sorry, I’m not good at this kinda thing.”

Castiel tilts his head. “What kind of thing is that, exactly?”

Dean takes another deep breath and finally meets Castiel’s eyes head on. “Thank you,” he says, and the only sign of vulnerability is the way his voice wobbles, just a little bit, at the end of the last word.

“Dean, I-“

“No, no, I’m serious, Cas.” Dean casts a fond look at the door. “I can’t… I wouldn’t be able to do this without you, ma- uh, sir.  It’s, uh… I guess I just… It means a lot to me, to look out for Sammy.” Dean’s sweating a little bit  _ (you are not going to lick any part of him), _ but his eyes are steady as they hold Castiel’s. “I really don’t know how to repay you.”

Castiel’s mind is working a mile a minute, and none of it is virtuous. He has a myriad of things he can think of that Dean can do to pay him back. Any number of positions, of depraved acts, of filthy activities he wants to do with him.

Fortunately  _ (unfortunately), _ the shadows in Dean’s eyes put a damper on his libido. Dean is experiencing  _ pain _ over this, over his inability to get a decent apartment and furnish it completely, which is ridiculous. No matter what kinds of things Castiel wants to do with him  _ (all kinds of things), _ Dean is only sixteen. This shouldn’t be his responsibility.

Quite without his permission, he finds himself laying a hand on the back of Dean’s neck again. It’s tense when he first touches, but he feels the boy relax beneath his touch and has to fight the wave of porn-worthy images before he can speak again.

“Dean,” he puts a bit of force behind his words and squeezes, just a bit. “You don’t have to worry about Sam anymore. I know you will, regardless of what I say, but please understand that I meant it when I told you that I would be taking care of the two of you from now on. The only thing either of you should concern yourselves with going forward is Sam’s studies and your training.”

They gaze at each other for a long few moments, and Castiel has no trouble imagining keeping himself locked onto those green eyes for much, much longer before Dean speaks.

“My training,” he says slowly, “to become a thief.”

Castiel smirks. “No, Dean. Your training to become an  _ excellent _ thief."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sorry, had to build up the angst, I know this chapter was kinda slow. But Benny! And Garth! And Kevin! Things will speed up soon. Stay with me, lovelies.  
> \- Feedback, it gets me hot.


	4. Chapter Four

Waking up the next morning is… Disorienting, to say the least.

Instead of in his dingy apartment, in a room that’s not _quite_ his own, Dean wakes up burrowed in soft sheets, beneath a heavy blanket. His alarm wasn’t set, but habit has him waking up as the sun starts to spill through the window in his bedroom.

_His bedroom._

Dean takes a few minutes to wallow in it, wiggling deeper into the covers and thinking about the differences between this morning and the one yesterday. The difference between worrying _how_ he’s going to feed Sam and wondering about _what_ to feed Sam, since they have so much at their disposal. The difference between wondering what he’ll _have_ to do today and wondering what he’ll _get_ to do today. _Amazing._

It all comes down to one dark-haired, blue-eyed, totally off-limits thief.

 _Down boy,_ he tells his morning wood, which twitches and perks up at the thought of Castiel. As sexy as his savior is (and sweet _Jesus),_ Dean can’t ruin this good thing by thinking with his dick. He can’t trash the chances that Cas has given Sam just because he wants the older man to fuck him until his vision is blurry and his mind is blank. Living up to the accusations that Sam hurled at him before Cas got here yesterday just isn’t an option.

Not that Dean is under the impression that Cas would want him, anyway. Dean’s aware that he’s only sixteen, and that he has nothing to offer Cas, but it’s a nice little fantasy to indulge while he’s still mostly asleep and as comfortable as he can ever remember being.

When his bladder finally takes precedence over laziness, he rolls out of bed and throws on a pair of sleep pants that are so old they’re almost transparent in places and hang low off of his hips. On his way to the bathroom, he bangs his fist on Sam’s bedroom door. “Rise and shine, Sammy!”

There’s an indistinct groan on the other side of the wood. It’s just the first of at least three times Dean will have to try to rouse Sam, so the lack of response doesn’t bother him. He goes to the bathroom, takes care of business, and brushes his teeth quickly. Once done, he goes into the kitchen to start breakfast.

Cas was right on the money when he said yesterday that there are only dry groceries in the apartment so far. But there’s coffee, which is essential, and there’s a box of muffins from a local bakery that are about the size of Dean’s head, so at least Sam will be fed.

He starts the coffee brewing in the coffee maker (which is loads nicer and about ten years newer than the one they have at the old place), making it strong enough so the smell wafts through the apartment. He also sticks a couple of the muffins in the microwave for a few seconds to warm them up before going to bang on Sam’s door again. _“Sam!”_

“Mffngh!”

“Right.” Satisfied that Sam is slowly pulling himself from the depths of sleep, Dean moves into the living room. There’s a little loveseat and a couple of chairs in here, as well as a low coffee table in the middle, on which rest a couple of remotes. Dean turns the TV on and switches the channel to a news station. It’s something he vaguely remembers his mother doing before she died, watching the news while she got ready to greet the day. Dean started doing it around the time John checked out as a father, and now it’s as deeply ingrained in his morning routine as the coffee is.

So he keeps an idle ear on the TV, listening to the newscaster’s drone while he pours himself a cup of coffee and pulls the muffins out to put them on plates. He brings everything back to the living room, arranges it all on the coffee table, then goes to bang on Sam’s door again.

 _“Sam!_ Last time! Ass outta bed, kid!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sam grumbles, and Dean grins.

The younger man comes out in a t-shirt that’s too small and pants that are too short, another reminder that he needs new clothes soon. His hair seems to be sticking straight up from his head, making Dean laugh as he pours Sam a cup of coffee and dumps a few spoonfuls of sugar into it. “Lookin’ good, kiddo,” he chuckles as he hands over the mug.

Sam squint-glares at him. “Shut up, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean returns automatically as they both move to the living room. Sam’s eyes light up at the sight of the muffins, and he begins to devour it as soon as his butt hits the couch.

Dean waits to see if Sam will want another one before he eats his, purely so he won’t have to get up again before he’s ready. It’s for naught, because as soon as Sam starts eyeing the second muffin predatorily, there’s soft knock on the front door.

Dean pulls himself to his feet, leaving his coffee cup on the table with a sigh. He stretches as he walks to the door, reveling in the feeling of having gotten a good night’s sleep. It’s not something that happens very often in Dean’s world.

He takes a look through the peephole before unlocking the door, because he’s not an _idiot._  When he sees wild black hair and a white dress shirt, he doesn’t hesitate to pull the chain and open the door eagerly.

As soon as Cas’ eyes land on him, Dean remembers that he’s shirtless, his own hair is still a mess, and the pants he’s wearing are only staying up by the grace of God.

_Smooth, Winchester._

* * *

Dean Winchester is trying to kill him. It’s the only explanation Castiel can come up with on the spot, and he’s rather impressed with himself for coming up with even that much in the face of a very rumpled, very _shirtless_ (read: half-naked, _dear God he’s half-naked)_ Dean. He had hoped, in what he now knows was in vain, that sleep would lessen the effect that the teenager has on him.

This is not the case.

The expanse of flesh available to Castiel’s eyes should be more illegal than anything he’s ever done in his _life._ Dean’s chest is all tan skin, trim waist, broad shoulders, pink nipples, and _smooth._ He’s going to be devastating once he fills out, as if he’s not bad enough for Castiel’s peace of mind _now._ There’s a pair of threadbare sweats hanging off of those lovely hips, and Castiel wants to mark the skin up there, leave dark marks along the boy’s waist, lay claim to him visibly.

He takes all of this in in the space of just a moment before he looks into Dean’s eyes. Once his gaze is settled on the younger man’s face, Castiel feels a bit more like he has control of himself.

Until he sees the lovely blush that blooms high on Dean’s cheeks, slowly travelling down his neck.

“Uh… Mornin’, Cas,” Dean says shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Good morning, Dean.” Dear God, when did his voice get that low? Is it always like that? The way Dean’s eyes widen fractionally indicate that it is not. “I hope you and Sam have settled in satisfactorily.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. The place is real nice. Thank you. Again.” Though Dean is stuttering a bit, earnest sincerity is shining in his eyes.

Yes, the only explanation is that Dean is trying to kill him.

Castiel clears his throat. “You’re very welcome, Dean. I was wondering when the two of you will be ready to go grocery shopping?” Thinking of how thin the pants that Dean has on are, “We’ll get the both of you clothes, too, if you don’t mind doing it all in one day.”

Dean frowns. “Clothes?”

 _Ah._ Castiel tries to be delicate here. “One of the reasons we’re able to live here and do our work uninhibited is because we blend in. Which means that we have to dress a certain way, at a certain… Level of quality, if you will, so that we don’t stick out. I’ll need you and Sam to do the same.”

The frown is deepening on Dean’s face. “Uh, I mean, you’ll have to give me a few days to come up with the money for new duds. It looks like it might rain today, I can hit the stre-“ A deeper red blush stains Dean’s face. “I mean, I can come up with the cash if you give me some time.”

Something hot and angry twists in Castiel’s stomach, though he’s careful to make sure nothing of the sort shows on his face. He knows that Dean is planning on prostituting himself for money, and he knows it’s none of his business, but it _infuriates_ him, though for a different reason than it did yesterday.

Yesterday, it was possessiveness, plain and simple. _Castiel_ wants to be the only one who has access to Dean’s body, the only one Dean is writhing in pleasure under. He wants him moaning Castiel’s name and begging for any number of delicious activities while Castiel and Castiel alone teases him.

It has been, however, one hell of a few hours.

Now, standing here looking at Dean, who’s still sleep rumpled and warm, it’s protectiveness that makes Castiel burn in fury. How dare their father leave Dean to this? What person in their right mind could look at Dean and not see someone who needs to be protected, someone who needs to be cherished? It is so incredibly obvious to Castiel that Dean is special, it baffles him that anyone could treat him so callously.

He reaches out to hold the back of Dean’s neck again _(this is becoming a habit stop it right now),_ his fingers brushing the tips of Dean’s as the boy puts his own hand down at his side. He aches to press his forehead to Dean’s, to get up in his space, to breathe the same air the boy is, but he holds himself back. _Inappropriate, uncalled for, you shouldn’t be touching him at all, you pervert._

“Little one,” he says firmly, and he does take one _small_ step closer to Dean, a compromise between what is right and the urge to sweep Dean into his arms. “I cannot tell you what to do with the time you are not training with me. If that… Profession is something you’d like to continue to pursue, I will not stand in your way. However, you and your brother are my charges now, and it is my responsibility _alone_ to provide the two of you with whatever you may need. If you feel that you must, for whatever reason, seek out money on your own, I won’t lift a finger to stop you.” He smiles a bit, watches Dean’s green eyes go wider and wider. “However, today you start training for a much more lucrative profession, and I hope it will make it unnecessary to continue the other.” Castiel has to force the next words out, because he is so uncharacteristically uncertain that he will be able to keep his emotions hidden. “Please,” he says softly. “Let me take care of you, Dean.”

The silence stretches between them for a few incredibly long moments. Dean’s eyes are flashing with emotion, making no attempt to hide the way he’s feeling. Surprise, suspicion, awe, and gratitude shine in those green eyes, and it makes Castiel want to fall to his knees and beg Dean to let him touch him, to let Castiel take him, have him.

_The boy is driving me insane._

When Dean speaks, it’s soft, almost like a secret, and the words hit Castiel square in the heart.

“Okay… I mean, yeah. Uh…” Dean takes a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

_Dear God._

* * *

Okay, Cas is trying to kill him. Dean doesn’t know why, but it’s the only thing that makes _sense._

First, it was that… _Moment_ they had at Dean’s front door, which will still turn his insides into mush if he thinks about the way Cas looked at him, the feel of Cas’ fingers against his own.

 _Then_ there was clothes shopping. During which, Dean followed Sam around to make sure everything fit, even made sure that everything was a little _too_ big so that Sam has room to grow into them. While Dean was doing that, Cas was following _him,_ making sure that, piece for piece, Dean got just as many clothes as Sam did. It was… _Unnerving._ Dean’s used to just wearing whatever he can get his hands on. He’s never had to worry about color or fabric or _fit,_ not for himself, anyway.

But there was Cas, making sure that Dean’s clothes hugged him the right way, or commenting that a dark green Henley brought out the green in his eyes, or suggesting that Dean look at getting himself a new leather jacket. Dean protested a lot of the purchases Cas made, especially the jacket, but Cas just ignored his objections and decked Dean out like a king. As uncomfortable as it made him, there’s a pit of warmth in Dean’s stomach that won’t go away no matter how much he tells himself that Cas does this for all of his “charges.”

After they hauled all of the clothes back to Cas’ car (and the amount of bags that are his simultaneously boggle Dean’s mind and make him blush profusely), the older man suggested they go to lunch before they grocery shop. Dean was worried, because Sam is a damn garbage disposal these days, and Cas took them to a mid-range restaurant, which usually translates to “completely out of Dean’s range.” Cas didn’t bat an eye, though, when Sam basically inhaled twice as much food as he or Dean did, he just slipped a credit card into the little leather folder that the waitress left on the table, and from what Dean managed to peek at, left her with a generous tip.

Now they’re in a farmer’s market, which is like Sam’s wet dream. Cas gave Sam a wad of cash and said, in that serious voice of his, “I trust your judgment, Sam.” Which, in Cas speak (which Dean is quickly becoming fluent in) means, “Go crazy, kid.” So Sam’s darting from booth to booth, trying to look discerning as he selects fruits and vegetables to buy. Dean thinks the kid’s probably mostly full of shit, but he looks so happy that Dean just shoves his hands into the pockets of his new leather coat and walks next to Cas as they follow at a much more leisurely pace.

“He seems… Excited.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, he probably is. He’s kind of a health freak. They made him take this nutrition class last year and he started in on me about ‘we don’t eat enough vegetables, Dean’ and ‘we should go for runs, Dean.’” Dean drops his voice down from the falsetto he was using to imitate Sam and scoffs. “Like I had time to go for runs even if I _did_ I want to, which I didn’t, because I love myself. And the eating better thing…” He shrugs. “Dunno, that shit’s expensive. I mean, I did what I could when I had the money, but I just… Couldn’t always get the stuff Sam wanted.”

He sees Cas stiffen up subtly out of the corner of his eye, and Dean immediately begins to berate himself. _Dammit._ He doesn’t want Cas to pity he and Sam. Yeah, it was bad, but Dean’s kind of proud of the way he got them through it. Maybe he did some shady things, but Sam never had to do a damn thing, and the kid was always fed and clothed, even if he wasn’t eating “farm fresh vegetables” or wearing name brand clothes.

Before he can work himself up into indignation, however, Cas speaks.

“Dean,” he says, his rumbly voice low so it doesn’t carry, “I haven’t said it yet, but what you have done for your brother is exceptionally admirable. There are not many people in the world who would so thoroughly put their own interests aside to care for another. It’s remarkable.”

He just _knows_ that his face is glowing bright red. “It’s nothing,” he says softly.

Cas just hums. “It’s clearly not.”

And while they follow Sam around as he becomes more and more weighed down with bags and packages, if maybe Dean walks a little closer to Cas so that their shoulders brush and bump against each other… Well, maybe Dean’s all right with that.

* * *

Castiel knows that he’s going to hell for the way he thinks of Dean, and after just twenty-four hours of knowing the boy, he also knows that he’s all right with that.

He knows, he _knows_ that he acted inappropriately at the clothing store. Maybe Dean didn’t notice, being as flustered as the teenager was at having any attention at all directed at him, but Castiel knew he was going overboard, and from the knowing looks the shop assistant was shooting him, he was being transparent. Luckily, Sam and Dean were too distracted to see anything amiss.

It is impossible, though, to ignore the way clothes _look_ on Dean. It would have taken a stronger man than Castiel is to not want to drape Dean in good fabrics in shades that show off Dean’s own glorious coloring. He never stood a chance.

Now, as he strides to the shared apartment to join the crew for Dean’s first day of training, he wonders if he will _ever_ stand a chance against Dean.

When he gets to the apartment and opens the door, Dean is already there in the kitchen with Benny. Castiel can’t help but notice that Dean is wearing clothes he got today, a dark pair of jeans and a black Henley. The sleeves are pushed up, where his arms are crossed against his chest, and he’s laughing at something that Benny’s said. It speaks to the long practice Castiel has had making sure his emotions don’t dictate his actions that he doesn’t stumble and fall flat on his face at the sight.

Garth is sitting on the couch in the living room, his nose buried in a comic book. Upon Castiel’s arrival, he looks up and grins. “Heya, boss,” he says easily.

“Hello, Garth.” At the sound of his voice, Benny and Dean turn to look at him. Castiel gives them a perfunctory nod. “Dean. Benny.”

“What’s up?” Benny asks.

“I believe it’s time to begin Dean’s training.”

Garth hops to his feet. “I’ll start up Jeff.”

Benny heads toward the door. “I’ll go get Kevin.”

Dean is frowning as the other boys flee the room. “Who the hell is Jeff?”

Castiel chuckles. “You’ll see.”

They watch in silence as Garth goes to each room of the shared apartment and pulls what looks like random pieces of abstract art from the walls and into the living room. Once he has all of the pieces there, he begins to assemble them, clicking them into place next to one another. After a few minutes, and after Kevin and Benny have joined them and are also watching Garth work, a mannequin with a blank face, about as tall as Castiel himself, is standing in the living room, facing them.

“Holy shit,” Dean says softly, eyebrows raised.

Kevin has a bundle of clothes in his arms, and with Garth’s help, they dress the mannequin quickly in boxers, a pair of slacks, a button-up shirt, and a zip-up hoodie. He also has a hat on, which does nothing for Castiel’s purposes, but it seems to amuse Garth and Benny, so he lets it slide.

“Dean,” Kevin says proudly. “This is Jeff.”

“And Jeff is the mark,” Garth says, holding his hand out to Castiel.

From his pocket, Castiel produces a long strand of string with bells tied on at seemingly random intervals. He hands it to Garth, who begins winding the string around Jeff strategically, the way Castiel showed him months and months ago.

Once he’s wrapped, Jeff looks like a normal mannequin, who happens to also be covered in string.

Dean’s green eyes are sharp with interest, and there’s a subtle tension in his spine that Castiel knows well. It’s hunger.

_Oh, yes, you will be amazing._

“Jeff has a wallet in his front right pocket, one in his back pocket, and one in the left pocket of his hoodie,” Castiel says seriously. “Your job is to take one of these. Any of them, for now, it’s your choice. There’s only one caveat, which I’m sure you can guess.”

“Gonna go out on a limb and say it’s ‘don’t ring the bell,’” Dean says dryly.

“Very good.” Castiel nods to Kevin. “A demonstration, please.”

Kevin nods and starts at the other end of the room. He meanders forward, pulling his phone out of his pocket, looking for all the world like a normal teenager, and not one of the most gifted pickpockets Castiel has ever had the pleasure of watching work. He comes to stand next to Jeff, eyes still on his phone. There’s seemingly no action, then Kevin walks away, as if he was waiting at a crosswalk and just got the signal that he could go.

Now, of course, he drops character, grins smugly, and waves the wallet he took from Jeff’s pocket.

Castiel smiles back. “Well done, Kevin.”

“Holy shit,” Dean says again, suitably impressed.

“Indeed.” Castiel waves his hand. “Now, Dean, I’d like you to attempt to do the same.”

There is no declaration of surprise, or protest that he doesn’t want to train in front of the rest of the boys. Dean just nods, that glint in his eyes, and takes his position where Kevin started.

It’s clear from the beginning that he’s tense, too wired to be successful. There’s a sort of nervous energy floating around him, but he’s also determined, steady in his desire to prove himself. He stands next to Jeff, one hand casually in his pocket, the other tapping his thigh in a random staccato. Castile sees his hand move toward the mannequin’s pocket, but Dean is fast as he takes the wallet. _Unbelievably_ fast. How the _hell_ did Castiel feel him in his own coat pocket before Dean got away yesterday? _You’re going to be better than I am, even._ Regardless of how fast he is, four bells ring.

Four bells.

 _Only_ four bells.

The reason the mannequin, the clothes, the string, and the bells are set up the way they are is deliberate and well thought out. It’s Castiel’s own design, built to let the bells ring at the _slightest_ movement, the _slightest_ provocation. It builds skill, it makes the practice tense enough to pay attention, but the sound is light enough that it doesn’t induce panic. It took him a year to perfect it, and when he showed it to Cain, he was _well_ rewarded.

So the fact that Dean set _only_ four bells off on his _first try_ is making Castiel’s head spin with possibilities. Dear _Christ,_ he isn’t going to be good, he’s going to be _great._ Castiel _knew,_ of course, he has these instincts for a reason, but for the first time, he thinks that maybe he won’t be the best person to train Dean.

“Dammit.” The spat word brings him from his reverie enough to see Dean frowning down at the wallet in his hand.

“That was _amazing,”_ Benny says with feeling.

Dean looks up and frowns at the Cajun. “But… I mean, the bells rang.”

“Only _four,”_ Garth is ever cheerful. “That’s _still_ less than I ring when I practice with Jeff.”

Kevin is nodding. “That’s true. That was really impressive, Dean.”

Dean turns a calculating eye onto the mannequin. “Yeah,” he says, clearly distracted. “Yeah.”

And here, here is why Castiel _should_ be training Dean. Dean needs reassurance. Dean does not believe he is good enough, or that he will be good enough. Dean needs someone he _trusts_ to say the words.

“It was well done,” he says simply.

Green eyes snap up to his own, and a genuine smile graces Dean’s lovely face, and Castiel is doomed.

“Thanks, sir.”

* * *

The same abstract art that makes up Jeff is featured in each apartment on the floor that Castiel owns. Once Garth shows him how to disassemble and reassemble the mannequin, Dean seems to settle into his own thoughts. He listens to the rule about the mannequin not being assembled after he goes to bed (if the only incriminating evidence is art on the walls, the police can’t claim anything untoward is happening), then quietly helps Benny with dinner for the team. When Sam gets back from school, he and Kevin go to the end of the table and start talking about something that Castiel cannot for the life of him follow.

Dean is soft-spoken all through dinner.

That night, Castiel goes to sleep to the faint sound of bells ringing over and over again, late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback, it gets me hot.  
> \- Also, fuck this chapter, because I struggled with it and rewrote it for a week before posting it, so just... Fuck this chapter. If you hated it, tell me so we can gossip about it behind its back.


	5. Chapter Five

A few weeks after Dean and Sam move in, Castiel is watching the sun go down from the bedroom window in the shared apartment. He had the bedroom converted into a study when he purchased the floor he and his crew live on. It’s where he conducts a majority of the paper side of the business, and where he brings associates to meet with him.

Now he sits at his desk, which faces the big window, and watches the sunset as he contemplates.

The Winchesters have settled in beautifully. It was a bit of a gamble, but Castiel went ahead and paid to have Sam enrolled in the same private school that Kevin attends. The boy is flourishing there, receiving high marks in all courses. The only reason Castiel knows anything about it is because Dean frequently brags about Sam, about how smart his younger brother is. Sam will blush and protest, but Dean hears nothing of it and continues to sing Sam’s praises. Sam never says anything about his own accomplishments, but Castiel is glad that he at least shares them with Dean, and that Dean shares them with the rest.

It’s the  _ only _ thing Dean shares.

Castiel supervises each of Dean’s training sessions (and if Benny gives him a cocked eyebrow at that, at least  _ Garth _ has the decency not to say anything), so he knows very well that Dean is exceptional. He knows that, in just a few weeks, Dean has mastered working with Jeff. Castiel is even planning on taking Dean with him to a music festival this weekend to work the crowd, to see him in action. It’s the fastest he’s ever taken a student from the mannequin to the street.

He wishes he could make Dean see his  _ worth. _ Where Castiel sees someone who has mastered pickpocketing in a remarkably short amount of time, Dean sees someone who didn’t get it right on the first try. It’s extremely frustrating.

He’s shaken from his thoughts by a soft knock on the door. “Come in.”

Kevin enters the room looking nervous, and Castiel immediately puts all of his concerns aside to focus on his charge. “Kevin? Is everything all right?”

Kevin gives a jerky nod that Castiel in no way believes. “Yeah, yeah, definitely.” He swallows hard. “I, uh, wanted to let you know that we’ve had some reports about that new gang? That Abby lady?”

Castiel nods gravely. “Abaddon, yes. Go on.”

“Uh, just that she’s definitely making waves. Smash and grab jobs, no finesse at all,” the disdain in Kevin’s voice makes Castiel swell with pride, “but they’re definitely, uh, making an impression. Public awareness will be up.”

Castiel nods. “We have plenty saved. It won’t hurt us overmuch to stay away from building and burglary work for a few weeks until it dies down.” When Kevin’s eyes dart away, Castiel tilts his head. “Was there something else?”

“I just… Sam says that he was with you when you guys ran into her.”

“He was.”

“He says that she… Uh, that she threatened us.”

_ Ah. _ That’s what Kevin is concerned about. “Kevin,” he says firmly, making sure his voice is confident, “I will let no harm come to any of you. Please do not worry yourself overmuch. I will deal with Abaddon, should she become a problem.”

It works, it must, because there is relief in Kevin’s eyes. “Of course, I know that. Sorry.”

“Do not apologize, I appreciate the vigilance.”

“Okay. I’m gonna, uh, go to bed.”

“Good night, Kevin.”

“’Night, boss.”

As soon as the door is shut behind the teen, Castiel turns to stare out the window again. He steeples his fingers and rests his index fingers against his chin as he watches the sunset.

He  _ is _ concerned about Abaddon. She’s a wild card, completely “off her rocker,” as Dean would say. She holds a grudge against him, and Castiel still doesn’t have a clear picture as to why. Not that it matters.  None of it matters. She won’t be putting a hand on any of his crew.

Castiel sighs deeply, settles into his chair, and thinks.

* * *

Bobby Singer trusts Dean Winchester implicitly with the care of his younger brother.

Bobby has watched helplessly as Dean has sacrificed over and over again, has given up nights and weekends and things he’s wanted or needed to make sure that Sam comes first, that Sam is taken care of. Bobby is furious that Dean ever felt he needed to do so, and he hasn’t spoken a kind word to John Winchester in almost a decade because of it.

So when Castiel came sniffing around, Bobby was prepared to tear the man apart limb from limb to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of Dean. Bobby knows that Dean  _ would _ let himself be taken advantage of, without missing a beat, to make sure that Sam is taken care of. No matter how much it would hurt Dean, as long as Sam is safe, he would do  _ anything. _

Castiel was a surprise in many ways. He’s intelligent and observant. His speech was quiet but powerful, like he knows he doesn’t  _ have _ to be loud to be heard. The way he dresses is nice but not overly so, not enough to draw attention to himself.

Most important for Bobby was that, when Castiel was in his kitchen, he had eyes only for Dean.

Maybe it’s sappy, and maybe it was stupid to let them go. But Castiel looks at Dean like Dean is  _ worth _ something, like Dean is  _ valuable. _ Bobby knows that, of course, and he knows that Sam does, too, but it’s something that others so rarely see in the boy. Bobby couldn’t help but trust that Castiel was going to take care of the Winchesters.

A few weeks after he sees them for the last time, he still believes that.

When he sees Dean come into the tavern, the sight of him strengthens that belief tenfold.

Dean’s eyes are bright as he scans the dining room for Bobby. His hair has been cut recently, and not by his own scissors this time. He’s putting some weight on, so he’s losing the gaunt look he’s always had. His clothes are, like Castiel’s, nice, but not too nice.

Probably most strikingly, there are no bruises on Dean’s face.

Maybe seeing this teenage boy on the verge of health isn’t  _ that _ big a deal. Maybe seeing his green eyes sparkle wouldn’t strike anyone else like it is Bobby. But Dean Winchester, as he is right now when he sees Bobby and grins wide and guileless, is one of the best things he’s ever seen.

* * *

Sam gets home from school that night exhausted but happy. He tosses his bookbag into one of the armchairs in the living room and plops down onto the couch next to Dean.

Dean’s eyes are glued to the TV, but he still asks, “How was school, kiddo?”

Sam shrugs. “All right.”

This is a lie. School is  _ great. _ It’s  _ amazing. _ Sam has never been to a private school before, and he’s never been so  _ challenged. _ There are some classes in which he has to  _ work _ to keep up with the rest of the class. It’s exhilarating.

His only wish is that Dean would come with him.

His brother looks over and grins. “Yeah? They teaching you how to keep that big head of yours screwed on straight?”

Sam would say that he doesn’t know where Dean got the idea that he’s not very smart from, but it would be a lie. He knows that, until Sam himself was old enough to know how to fight back, their father spent Dean’s life telling him that he’s not smart, he’s just a soldier, he’s worthless. Sam has tried to tell Dean that none of that is true, but he thinks that his words fall on deaf, unbelieving ears. When Cas told Sam about the school, he asked about Dean attending, too. Cas answered that it was Dean’s choice, and Dean scoffed when Sam confronted him about it.

“The book learning’s all about you, Sammy, I’m just making sure you get there,” was all he said.

No amount of protest from Sam has changed Dean’s mind so far, which is annoying as hell.

“Something like that,” he murmurs.

The only saving grace of the situation is that Dean seems to be on track to being a very,  _ very _ good thief. Yeah, normally Sam would have some strong words about that, he would protest and fight and scream until Dean wasn’t doing something illegal to put food on the table. The look of pride on Dean’s face when he was finally able to use Jeff without ringing of the bells, though, erased all doubts from Sam’s mind. Is it illegal? Yeah. Immoral? Definitely. But the shaky confidence in Dean’s eyes when Castiel praised him for his work is worth more than any of that, in Sam’s book.

Not to mention it’s all so  _ interesting. _

Sam doesn’t want to be a thief. He’s actually thinking about being a lawyer, both because it’s fascinating and because he thinks his brother might need to be bailed out of jail someday, and it’s about time he was able to help Dean. The way that Castiel does theft, and therefore is teaching his crew how to steal, is kind of amazing.

It’s things like making sure you brush your teeth with flavorless toothpaste before you go out, to make sure you don’t smell like whatever food you just ate  _ or _ minty toothpaste. It’s the selection of clothes for the day of “going out,” to make sure that you perfectly blend into the crowd you’re in. It’s the way you walk, the way you talk, it’s so in depth. Sam has seen the way Castiel speaks normally, upper class, but he can also slip into the vernacular (which was hilarious), or curse like a sailor, and none of the words sound rough or unfamiliar on his tongue.

It’s worth mentioning that watching Dean practice his upper-crust speech has had Sam in stitches every time he hears it, too. He’s getting good, though, and he’ll get even better.

So, yeah. Sam wishes Dean wasn’t doing this. He wishes they had any sort of normal childhood. He wishes that Dean didn’t feel responsible for him. It’s one of only two real downsides to this whole thing.

The other downside, of course, is the  _ tension. _

Every time Cas and Dean are in a room together, well, Benny calls it “eye fucking.” Garth always protests and calls it “eye making love.” Kevin and Sam both think it’s just ridiculous. It’s incredibly obvious that they want each other. The other boys lament that they haven’t fallen into bed together yet, but Sam usually stays quiet when they discuss his big brother and their fearless leader.

Because Sam knows  _ why _ they haven’t.

For Castiel, he thinks it’s about Dean’s age and his own position of authority. He thinks Cas doesn’t want to take advantage of Dean, or to use his own power over him to do the same.

For Dean, it all comes back to self-worth.  Sam doesn’t see any situation in which Dean feels like he’s good enough for Castiel, no matter how much bullshit that may be.

So Sam doesn’t get mad when they make goo-goo eyes at each other. He doesn’t really complain when you could cut the tension with a knife. It doesn’t bother him that they seem to orbit one another very carefully, never coming too close, but never going too far, either.

It really just breaks Sam’s heart.

“Earth to Sam,” Dean is saying. “You ready for dinner?”

* * *

Dean takes his place next to Castiel at the dinner table after he’s helped Benny pass the food around, and for the five hundredth time, marvels at what his life is now.

Cas says he’s taking Dean to some sort of outdoor concert this weekend, and he is  _ stoked. _ Jeff is all well and good, after all, but he’s not a real  _ person. _ Dean is excited to get out into the real world to put himself to the test. Cas says he thinks Dean will do really well, and Dean’s starting to believe him despite himself.

He passes food around for everyone, just letting the chatter of the crew wash over him. Garth’s kind of loud, pitchy voice is always light and cheerful. The dude  _ radiates _ happiness, and it’s hard to be annoyed with him for it because he’s so damn  _ nice. _ Kevin is quiet, but smart, with a cutting sense of humor that almost always catches Dean off guard. Benny’s voice is deep, and the Cajun accent hides the fact that he’s shrewd as hell, taking in everything around him and drawing conclusions without a damn bit of it showing on his face. Sam, of course, is always nerding out at the table. The only reason his nose isn’t shoved into a book right now is that Cas forbids it at the dinner table.

And then, of course, there’s Cas.

Dean is  _ aware _ of Cas in a way he’s never been aware of another human being. Every word that rumbles out of Cas’ mouth sends shivers up and down Dean’s spine. The spark of pride in Cas’ eyes during their lessons has Dean’s chest puffing up and his own lips pulling up into a smile. Warmth always seems to radiate off of Cas, seeping into Dean’s bones and making him feel safe.

Dean has never wanted someone like he wants Cas, nor has he ever been so sure that he can’t act on it.

It’s not the age thing, God knows Dean’s done shadier shit with older men. It’s just…  _ Cas. _ Cas is smart, and good at the job, and caring, and a whole host of things that Dean is not. Dean’s not oblivious, he knows that Cas wants him, but if they gave it a shot, and when it went downhill (because it  _ would _ go downhill), where does that leave Sam? Homeless? Back in public school? Now that they’ve had a taste of this, Dean’s not willing to let his little brother go back to that.

Not while he can do something about it, anyway.

So Dean smiles and jokes around with the crew, and hopes to God that Cas doesn’t notice that he’s avoiding his gaze.

* * *

That night, back in his office, Castiel picks up the phone and dials a number that he still has memorized by heart.

“Castiel,” the smooth voice says, and he feels parts of him relax that he didn’t realize were tense.

“Cain,” he says warmly. “How are you?”

The older man hums. “I’m doing well. The bees are thriving, you know.”

Castiel smiles. “You and your bees.” His tone is warm with affection.

“I’m going to assume that you weren’t calling just to make fun of me,” Cain’s voice is as fond as Castiel’s is. “Is there something wrong, dear?”

Castiel heaves a sigh. “Several things.”

“Start with the least troubling, we’ll work our way backward.”

He runs a hand through his hair. He knows it does nothing to help its unruliness, but it’s an old habit that he can’t seem to break, especially late at night when his mind is heavy with worries. “Well… It’s a boy.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“He’s just… He’s  _ wonderful. _ He’s thoughtful and kind, he takes care of his younger brother, he’s entirely selfless.” He’s rambling, God help him.

“You’ve taken him as part of the crew?”

“I have.”

“How is he?”

“He’s…” Castiel closes his eyes. “He’s  _ incredible. _ I daresay he rivals you or I.”

“That’s quite a compliment coming from you.”

“I mean every word.”

“What is the trouble then, love? Don’t tell me he’s hideous, you’ve never been that shallow.”

He smiles ruefully. “I wish that was the problem. No, he’s extraordinarily beautiful.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Castiel is quiet for a moment before answering. “How did you handle your attraction to me?”

Cain doesn’t miss a beat. “I fucked you, dear.”

Castiel is surprised into long, loud laughter. When he gets a hold of himself,  _ “Before _ you fucked me.”

“I was  _ seducing _ you,” Cain says, his deep voice smug as hell.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Cain hums. “What’s holding you back from making this boy yours?”

“He’s a  _ boy, _ Cain. He’s sixteen.”

“So were you.”

Castiel sighs and leans back in his chair. “So I was.”

“What’s the real problem, Castiel? Don’t lie to me anymore, love.” There’s steel in Cain’s voice, just a touch of the old hardness, and though Castiel is much more used to ordering his partners around now, it still makes him shudder with a whisper of want.

“He’s… Softer than I was,” he says gently, an apology in his tone. “He has suffered so, so much. I do not wish to add to his suffering, and I do not wish… I don’t want him to think he’s beholden to do this for me, or to let me do this to him, as some sort of payment for making him part of the crew.”

There are several beats of silence while Cain absorbs that. “Can you not just tell him that?”

“I don’t think he would believe me.”

All those years ago, when Cain first propositioned Castiel, when he was still mostly long, skinny limbs and a burning desire to prove himself, it was easy to enter their arrangement knowing that it was entirely separate from their lessons. It was easy to let Cain rule him in bed, then argue with him while they talked about jobs. When they fell in love, it was easy to just let one another take over their whole lives. It wasn’t until Castiel started to feel restless that it became clear that, as long as they’d been together, it wasn’t to last. Sometimes, on his dark or difficult days, Castiel wonders if he didn’t make a mistake.

Although, thinking of Dean’s shining green eyes or the smile that’s getting quicker and easier every day, it’s hard to believe he didn’t make the right call.

“I don’t want to hurt him any more than he’s been hurt.”

“Oh, my,” Cain says, and the love in his voice makes Castiel beam. “You don’t just  _ want _ him, you want  _ him.” _

He sighs. “I do.”

“Well, that’s a bit of a different animal, isn’t it?” Cain muses. “I advise patience, Castiel. You are impossible not to fall in love with, and if you’ve been making moon eyes at him like you did at me, he will come to you eventually.”

“I did  _ not _ make moon eyes at you!” Castiel splutters indignantly.

Cain chuckles. “Darling, that’s  _ all _ you made at me.”

It’s so easy to slip back into this banter with Cain. “You fell in love with my youthful elegance.”

He can hear the smile in Cain’s voice. “That I did, my love. That I did.”

Castiel is struck with a fierce yearning for the man on the other end of the line. He knows he did the right thing, that at some point, he would have felt smothered and stifled if he’d stayed. It’s moments like these, though, when he misses his life with Cain terribly.

“I love you, you know,” he says softly, smiling wistfully.

“And I you, my dear,” Cain responds immediately. “But I think that I will not be the sole inhabitant of your heart soon, hmm?” There is no jealousy or bitterness in his voice. When Castiel told him that he needed to go, Cain sent him with his blessing.

Castiel’s smile widens. “I think… You may be right.” He lets his smile slip away as he remembers, again, that Dean is not his only concern.

Cain, ever the mind reader, beats him to the punch. “What else is bothering you?”

“Do you remember Abaddon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- All feedback is appreciated. The good, the bad, and the ugly, I welcome it all.  
> \- *squinty eyes* This chapter can also go fuck itself. _Vigorously._


	6. Chapter Six

The sun beats down on the crowd, warming everyone  _ just _ enough. Alcohol is flowing freely, as it is wont to do at weekend-long music festivals, and the crowd is pleasantly drunk for the most part. There’s a big stage situated in the middle of the park, and the bands have done a good job of keeping the crowd in high spirits.

Castiel couldn’t have chosen a better day to let Dean get his feet wet.

The boy stands next to him without fidgeting, his posture relaxed. The only sign that he’s not here to enjoy the concert with the rest of them is his eyes, which are sharp, alert. He watches and weighs each person who passes by, debating the pros and cons of each mark. The way he dismisses most of them makes Castiel swell with pride.

Picking pockets is just as much about choosing the mark as it is about stealing anything at all.

When Dean finds said mark, Castiel approves very much. The man is about Dean’s height with a medium build. He’s walking carefully, but not stumbling. His eyes are bleary, but not completely hazed over with alcohol. He’s looking around, but not paying much attention to what he sees. He’s perfect.

Almost as perfect as Dean.

When Dean casually begins to meander forward, Castiel takes a step back, loses himself in a different part of the crowd. Oh, he’s never far away enough to intervene if necessary (and if anything involving Dean ever came to blows, he doesn’t know  _ how _ he’d react), but he’s deep enough into the throng of people that Dean can’t see him. As far as Dean knows, he has no safety net.

Castiel watches sharply as Dean wanders up to the guy, and the way he bumps into him looks flawlessly accidental. Dean laughs a little too loud, and the way the man grins says that he thinks he’s found a kindred spirit in drunkenness. Castiel can just watch and marvel as Dean builds a friendly rapport in just seconds, and has the man leaning on him in minutes, laughing so hard he can barely stand.

_ He’s incredible. _

_ Christ, I want him. _

When Dean starts talking to a third person, Castiel frowns but doesn’t interfere. Dean has superb instincts, and Castiel trusts him, but he moves closer to the scene, anyway.

It’s only another few minutes before Dean is letting his mark lean against the third man, all three of them laughing and joking. Dean salutes them, then stumbles his way to Castiel. It isn’t until he’s out of sight of the other men that his walk straightens out and he moves again with the unconscious grace of youth  _ (just like he will move in my… No, no, stop it). _ While he is always extraordinary in Castiel’s eyes, Dean blends in very well with the other members of the crowd. Only his twinkling green eyes give away that anything is amiss.

He comes to stand next to Castiel again, body language still shockingly casual. “How’d I do?” he murmurs after a few moments. It’s only a subtle movement of his hand in the pocket of his jacket that shows Castiel that he has a wad of cash there.

“Very well.” Castiel tries to be constructive with his praise when he’s teaching his crew, but it seems to flow out of him with ease when it comes to Dean. Dean is just so  _ good. _

His crooked grin sends a bolt of emotion through Castiel’s chest that he refuses to examine. “Yeah?”

Castiel smiles. “You know you did very well, Dean.”

The boy laughs. “Damn right I did!” Even his little celebration is quiet enough not to disturb or alert the people around them.

“How do you feel?”

Dean’s smile is bright and happy. “I feel great, Cas.” His eyes are intensely green in the sunlight. “Actually, I kinda feel like this crowd hasn’t given us everything it can.”

Castiel cocks an eyebrow, desperately trying to quell the fire rushing through his veins at the mischief on Dean’s young face. “Is that so?”

He looks around at the concert. The reasons that it was a perfect place to let Dean try his first pickpocket are all good reasons to continue. Namely, few people will be focused enough to really stop them, and when they sober up, they’ll be embarrassed enough that they won’t say anything about missing cash. Or, even better, they’ll think they lost or spent it and don’t remember.

“Very well, little one,” Castiel says, his own smirk spreading across his face. “Let’s get to work.”

* * *

For each haul that they bring home, it’s split evenly between each person who was part of the job, then into percentages.

Thirty percent, Castiel explains, goes to what he calls the “house fund.” Dean takes that to mean it helps pay the bills for the apartments, as well as groceries for the shared apartment where they all have dinner together every night. Castiel explains it also pays for things like doctor’s visits, dentists, and the like. “It would be terribly humiliating to be caught because someone recognized bad dental hygiene.”

Another thirty percent goes into an “individual fund” that Castiel has set up in each of their names. He says it’s for things like college or houses, but Dean’s not thinking about any of that shit. College? Never. He’s not smart enough for college. Hell, he didn’t even finish high school. For Sam, maybe, so he lets that slide. But a house? The hell would he want a house for?

He thinks that until it occurs to him that, at some point, Castiel is gonna want him out of here. Sammy will probably be long gone to whatever fancy college he decides on by then. Once he realizes that he’ll have to leave, as much as he wants to stay here, and as much as he doesn’t want to be alone, he stays quiet about the money being put away for his future.

He just… Tries not to dwell on it.

The rest of the money is just his, though, to do whatever he wants with it. He and Cas walked away from the festival with around a thousand dollars between the two of them. It kind of boggled Dean’s mind, especially when, once Cas was done splitting up the dough, he handed Dean two hundred dollars cash.

“The hell is all this for?” he asked.

Cas just raised his eyebrows. “It’s for you, Dean. For whatever you wish.”

He just said it so…  _ Casually, _ like it was obvious that it’s for Dean. Like this money that isn’t for rent, or food, or school books, or anything else that he (Sam) needs, like it’s all for him. He goes back into the apartment in a daze and spends a long time sitting on the couch, just staring at the money in his hand.

After not too terribly long, he gets a warm feeling in his chest. Because  _ this _ is what Castiel makes him feel like. This is what it’s like being taken care of. This is what it’s like to not have to be scared every day of not being able to feed Sam, or that they won’t have a roof over their heads. He feels a twinge a guilt about how little he’s thought about John the last few weeks, but his dad hasn’t reached out to him at all, and mostly? Mostly, Dean just feels grateful.

It’s a dangerous emotion, but since he’s certain that he can keep it secret, he lets himself bask in it before he rolls the money up and puts it in his sock drawer.

* * *

A few weeks after Dean’s first job, during which they’ve hit several more small venues, there’s a knock on the shared apartment door.

Castiel, who is running Garth through his paces with Jeff (again, endlessly, fruitlessly), frowns. The only people who have any reason to come to the apartment not only have a key, but Castiel knows where they are. Sam and Kevin are at school, Dean and Benny are hanging out in Benny’s apartment, and Garth is here, with him.

Bless the boy, though, he’s endlessly optimistic. “We have a visitor!”

Castiel is not so thrilled. “Indeed. Stay here, Garth.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

When Castiel looks through the peephole, he relaxes. He takes a deep breath to brace himself for the whirlwind that’s about to happen, then opens the door wide.

She’s grinning at him, like she always does. Her bright red hair is longer than it was last time he saw her, he likes it. She’s wearing her customary t-shirt and jeans, has bulky headphones resting around her neck, and her hand is held up in the Vulcan salute.

“Hello, Charlie.”

“‘Sup, chief? Where my bitches at?”

* * *

Charlene Bradbury, a name she chose mostly by herself, partially with Castiel’s advice (“I want to be called Charlie.” “And you can be called Charlie, but your full name must be Charlene.” “But I hate that.” “Such is life, dearest.”) remains the only child who sought  _ him _ out. At thirteen, she also remains his youngest apprentice.

Charlie is not a good pickpocket at  _ all. _ She’s a bit of a disaster in crowds. She’s a passable burglar at best, although her roof work is miles ahead of her crowd work.

She is, however, an incredible cyber thief.

Castiel didn’t do much to train Charlie, as she had been as knowledgeable as she could get when she’d gotten to him. What he tried to do, and what he feels he did fairly well, was to instill  _ morals _ into her.

Now, he knows, Charlie views herself (rather accurately) as a Robin Hood type character, stealing from the grossly rich and giving back to the needy. She prefers animal welfare organizations, he’s noticed, although she’s made quite a few donations to other institutions, as well. Though he doesn’t understand how her form of thievery works, he knows that it does, and he’s extremely proud of her and everything she’s accomplished.

* * *

After dinner that night, where there were introductions and reunions (Charlie was only here for a bit when Kevin was first brought into the crew before she left to make her own way), Charlie joins Castiel in the office.

“‘Sup, chief?”

He smiles. “Hello, Charlie. Are you enjoying your visit?”

It’s because of Charlie that Castiel is able to do most of what he does for his crew. She’s the one who sets up bank accounts, acquires or forges school records or official documents, and has scoped out a potential mark on more than one occasion. Though she calls herself a “freelancer” now, a significant amount of Charlie’s time is still spent working for Castiel.

“Good, good,” she says easily as she flops down in one of the armchairs facing the desk. “Got a good crew this time.”

Castiel smiles. “Yes, I think so, too.”   
  
“Kevin’s still too fucking smart for his own good.” She grins. “Although he’s not a fan of cyber thievery.”   
  
“Kevin believes in the honor of the craft in its original form.”   
  
Charlie scoffs. “Old men, you two are kindred spirits of old men.” She eyes him carefully before speaking again. “So… Dean’s something else, hm?”   
  
A surge of jealousy rears its head  _ (she’s pretty she’s outgoing and vivacious she’s age appropriate) _ before he’s able to remind himself that Charlie is as gay as he himself is. He hums noncommittally.   
  
Charlie and Dean got along very well from the moment they laid eyes on one another. Rapid-fire speech about Star Trek and Star Wars and any number of things Castiel has no frame of reference for left his head spinning. Sam’s eyes were fond when he accused them of “geeking out,” and Castiel got the impression that Dean doesn’t have many friends, if he has any at all.   
  
Charlie rolls her eyes. “Okay. Let’s address the UST.”   
  
He frowns. “UST?”   
  
“Unresolved sexual tension.”   
  
Unbelievably, he feels himself starting to blush. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, voice tight with tension.   
  
She nods wisely. “So… We’re lying to ourselves?”   
  
_ Not to ourselves, no. _ “Charlie, nothing is-“   
  
She holds a hand up. “No use lying to me, chief. Not only do I know you, I have eyeballs, and have therefore been witness to the pining.”   
  
He considers for a moment, trying to deceive her again, but gives it up as a lost cause. “Yes, well, I don’t intend to act on the pining.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
He looks up at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Excuse me?”   
  
She shrugs. “He clearly wants you back. Why not make a move?”   
  
“He’s sixteen, Charlene.”   
  
She makes a face. “Don’t call me Charlene. And so?”   
  
“He’s a child.”   
  
“So he’s old enough to put his ass on the line for you, but not old enough to get into that sweet ass?”   
  
“… Must you be so crude?”   
  
She beams. “Alas, I must.” Sobering, “Seriously, Cas. What’s going on?”   
  
He runs a hand through his hair. “He’s sixteen, Charlie, and he has experienced so few good things in life. He’s… Faced a lot, with remarkable poise for his age.”   
  
“So shouldn’t you want to give him some of the good things he’s missed?” she suggests gently.   
  
“I cannot take advantage of him like that.”   
  
She smirks. “From what I saw today, he wouldn’t mind getting taken advantage of.”   
  
He sighs. “Charlie, it’s… I am the first adult with the means and inclination to take the responsibility off of his shoulders, to take care of him. It… Any feelings he has are clouded by that. Misguided hero worship at most.”   
  
There’s deep sympathy etched onto her features now. “And, let me guess, you’re not just gonna  _ talk _ to him about this.”   
  
“It would be taking advantage. I don’t… He might feel obligated to indulge my feelings to keep his place here, especially for Sam. Even if I insisted that he wasn’t beholden to me…” Castiel shrugs. “It’s enough of a consent issue that I’m not willing to move forward.”   
  
Charlie is frowning, but she doesn’t argue with him, for which he’s grateful. It’s strange enough talking about this with someone who’s just a few years older than Dean himself, but Charlie was one of his  _ charges. _   
  
“Well, that blows, chief.”   
  
“Indeed.”   
  
“Well, onto brighter subjects, I’ve been teaching the children how to internet.”   
  
Castiel smiles, thankful for everything that Charlene Bradbury is. “And how has that gone for you?”   
  
“Well, Sam showed some interest in my kind of work, so point one for me. And Garth, weirdly enough, has got some serious hidden talent.”   
  
“I refuse to be surprised by anything Garth does anymore.”   
  


* * *

Dean is shooting the shit with Benny in the Cajun’s apartment after dinner, thinking that it’s about time to head back to his own place, when Benny gets that look in his eye.   
  
“So… Castiel.”   
  
Dean groans. “Not again, Lafitte.”   
  
Benny is on some sort of mission from hell to get Dean to confess how he feels to Cas, which is never going to happen. He doesn’t bring it up every time they hang out alone, but often enough that Dean usually makes sure at least one other person is with them.   
  
Dean just doesn’t know how to explain how much better Castiel is than him. Dean was barely able to take care of Sam, who is just one kid, and Cas has all of  _ this. _ Cas is a famous thief, and Dean is some nobody he rescued.   
  
He leans his head back against the couch, his eyes closed. Normally he laughs it off, makes a joke at his own expense, but somehow it’s not coming to him today. “He’s not looking at me twice, Benny,” he says softly, a rare moment of pure honesty. “Hell, I’m nothing.”   
  
There’s a beat of silence, then a strong hand clapping down on his knee. He raises his head and looks directly into Benny’s ice blue eyes.   
  
“Nothing, you ain’t, brotha,” he says gently, and it takes Dean a moment to even parse out a meaning through the accent. “And besides, if you don’t think he’s been looking, you ain’t been paying attention.”   
  
That’s enough of that. “Come on, Benny, you know everyone’s got an eye on my sweet ass.” He smiles dashingly to sell it.   
  
Benny rolls his eyes, just like Dean wanted, but he does not stop talking, which is not what Dean wanted. “Joke all you want, Dean. I think the two of you are dancing around each other for no reason, is all.”   
  


* * *

It takes Dean a long time to fall asleep that night, wondering if Benny is right about the way Cas looks at him, wondering if it even matters.   
  


* * *

That night, Cas and Charlie meet in the office again, this time for business.   
  
“All righty,” she says, settling at the desk and cracking her knuckles. “What am I looking for here?”   
  
He’s leaned against the desk next to her, staring out the window, frowning. “Abaddon must have a plan of some sort. I need to know if we can find out what it is.”   
  
“… And whatever other dirt I can dig up on dear old Abbie, so we can take her down, right?”   
  
Castiel smiles vaguely. “Do whatever you feel is right, Charlie.”   
  
She pats him on the hip without looking up from her computer screen. “Aw, Cas. I was gonna do that, anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback gets my motor running.  
> \- Come see me on [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper)  
> \- I promise that we'll have some plot soon, instead of just pining and picking pockets.  
> \- Sidenote: "Pining and Picking Pockets" would have been a great title for this story.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hey, lovelies. I wanted to take a moment to point out the new Archive Warning for Major Character Death. I've been debating about it, and it's kind of how the story has to go. Now, it's not for a couple of chapters, and I can assure you here and now that it's not Dean or Cas. I just wanted to draw attention to it, just in case anyone would rather stop reading here than go forward because of that. For those of you sticking with me, hi and I love you.  
> \- Trigger warning for abuse.

Dean’s never really had a routine that didn’t revolve around fear.

Fear of his father. Fear of eviction. Fear of Sammy starving to death. Fear of Sam’s teachers or friends finding out about how the Winchesters live. Fear of discovery when he had to turn to stealing. Fear of discovery when he had to hit the streets. Fear of getting Bobby in trouble when he helped Dean out.

So Dean knows a lot about fear. He’s never had an  _ absence _ of it like he does now.

Because now? His routine is built around… Well,  _ routine. _

When he gets up in the morning, he makes breakfast, wakes Sam up, and watches the news until he sends the kid off to school (Kevin’s old enough to have a license and a car, so he takes both of them). Once Sam is gone, Dean does things like clean the apartment, do the laundry, or just sit and watch TV with a second cup of coffee, which is something that he’s never done in his life, and is quickly becoming addicted to.

Late mornings and early afternoons mean work. He runs paces with Benny or Garth, or he learns a little about what Charlie does. He has absolutely zero interest in doing the job the way she does it, but it’s cool to watch her work. If he’s not doing any of that, he’ll sometimes accompany Benny to grocery stores or markets to shop for the shared apartment. Dean swears he’s learned more about fresh goddamn vegetables since they moved in than he  _ ever _ wanted to know.

Afternoons and evenings, once Sam is home and settled, or once Dean knows that he and Kevin are safely at their after school whatever activities? They belong to Cas.

There’s always a quiet sort of pride in Cas’ eyes when they do crowd work together and Dean comes back with almost as much as Cas has. He’s never beat the older man, but he’s determined to do it, and Cas is encouraging the dream. Dean’s never had this much money in his  _ life, _ he hardly knows what to do with it. With the little amount of free time he takes for himself, he goes to thrift stores or used bookshops and buys whatever strikes his fancy there. The bookshelf in his room is slowly filling up. He forgot how much he likes reading.

Cas has even started keeping him inside and teaching him the basics of  _ roof _ work. There was admiration in his voice when Cas admitted that it’s the fastest he’s ever moved a student on from simple picking pockets, but he’s certain that Dean can handle it, and Dean would rather die than disappoint Cas about  _ anything, _ much less about  _ this. _

On his rare nights off, he’ll sometimes go see Bobby. They’ll hang out at the tavern, and it’s more like two adults meeting up than a kid coming to a parental figure for help. The weather is starting to get kinda cold again, so Bobby starts bringing up Dean’s seventeenth birthday, which makes him roll his eyes. Dean’s never celebrated a birthday in his life, at least not since his mom died, and he’s not gonna start now. It’s great hanging out with Bobby, though, especially now that he’s on more even footing with the man.

Sammy’s happy with his school, filling out and shooting up tall now that he’s being fed good food regularly. Dean’s never needed much more than that to be happy, and now he  _ has it, _ and he has so much more he never even thought he could  _ dream _ about, much less  _ have. _

So it makes sense that as soon as he gets comfortable in his new routine, something comes along to remind him about fear.

* * *

Castiel is a light sleeper, and always has been. Maybe a holdover from his childhood, or his time with Cain’s charges (before he was sleeping in Cain’s bed, of course). Whatever the reason, while he has very little trouble going back to sleep, the slightest disturbance wakes him up.

The shouting across the hall is  _ not _ the slightest disturbance. It’s loud, and while he can’t hear the words being said, the tone is angry and biting. It sounds like Sam, which is what drives Castiel out of bed.

Though he’s had less reason to be so lately, Castiel  _ has _ seen how thoughtless Sam can be with his words when he’s angry. He’s sure it’s part of being a teenager, but there is no one in the world with more power to hurt Dean than his younger brother. It’s the urge to protect Dean that has Castiel tugging on a pair of sleep pants and throwing on a robe before he goes out in the hall.

Garth is standing just outside his own door down the hall, a concerned expression on his face. Castiel waves him back into his place and waits until he hears the door click before he turns to the Winchesters’ apartment.

_ How much should I interfere? Should I do anything at all? Is this overstepping my bounds? Am I letting my inappropriate affection for Dean color my actions? _

Being shocked out of sleep and having adrenaline propel him out of his home has left him feeling a little fuzzy. He’s still working out the best course to take when the door flings open to reveal a  _ furious _ Sam Winchester.

Sam clearly dressed in a hurry. One of the flannel shirts he and his brother favor is haphazardly buttoned over his torso, and his shoes are untied. He’s already got his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hazel eyes are snapping fire. His breathing is labored.

He doesn’t even seem surprised to see Castiel standing half-dressed in his door, just glares at him. “Maybe he’ll listen to  _ you,” _ he snarls, before storming his way down the hall. Castiel watches as he knocks on Kevin’s door until the other boy opens up, then goes into the apartment and slams the door behind him.

Castiel takes the door in front of him, left open by the irate teenager, as an invitation. He enters cautiously, torn between wanting to check on Dean and not wanting to embarrass the boy if he catches him in a moment of vulnerability. Contrary to his charges’ belief, he  _ does _ remember being Dean’s age.

He needn’t have worried, Dean is leaning back against the counter, scrubbing his hands against his face. His bare shoulders are slumped in defeat, but his eyes aren’t wet when he looks up to see Castiel standing there. Just tight with tension.

“Are you all right, Dean?” he asks as he slowly makes his way into the kitchen, not wanting to startle or upset Dean more, but unable to deny the urge to be closer to him.

Dean huffs out a sigh and places his hands on the edge of the counter behind him. His arms flex as he grips it hard. “I, uh. I dunno.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Dean shrugs and settles his eyes somewhere down near where his bare feet peek out from beneath his sleep pants. “I, uh. Dad called.”

Castiel cocks an eyebrow, though Dean isn’t looking at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he, uh, he sounded kinda drunk, and I dunno, it’s like, seven in the morning. It’s  _ weird _ that he’s still drunk, or drunk already,” Dean says with a humorless chuckle, running his hand through his short hair. “Anyway, I told Sam that I was gonna ask you if I could skip a couple of hours today to go check on the old man, and he just…  _ Flipped out.” _

“Why would he… ‘Flip out?’” Castiel asks, using the air quotes his crew makes so much fun of in the hopes of drawing even a small smile out of Dean.

It works, and he’s rolling his eyes as he answers. “I just… Look, Dad told me to come home, and I think he’d throw a fit if I didn’t. I mean, it’s the longest we’ve gone without seeing him, and I don’t… I don’t want him getting suspicious and trying to get us go back. And it’s not just that, it’s…” Here, Dean swallows hard. “He’s  _ family. _ Before we came here, he was the only family we had, and Bobby says that family don’t end in blood, but I still gotta go check on him.”

Despite the warmth that threads through his heart at the implication that Dean now sees the crew as family, Castiel tilts his head. “Sam disagrees?”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, Sam thinks I should leave him in the dust.” He takes a deep breath, and it’s then that Castiel really  _ notices _ that Dean is shirtless, too. He wonders if he should tie his robe shut now, or if that would just draw attention to the fact that there’s so  _ much _ bare skin present.

“He just doesn’t  _ get _ it,” and the way Dean’s voice tightens in distress thoroughly distracts Castiel from his dirty thoughts. “He doesn’t get how  _ bad _ things got, and that I was taking care of both of them, and I can’t just  _ stop _ ‘cause I like Sammy more. I mean, Sam knows what went on, but he didn’t know  _ everything, _ I… I  _ couldn’t _ let him know everything, I wouldn’t, because the kid’s too smart for his own good, and he would have gotten in the way, and I couldn’t let Dad hit him instead, I just  _ couldn’t, _ and I-“

Castiel acts on instinct, desperate to soothe the ache in Dean’s words. He takes the last step forward that separates them and wraps Dean up in his arms. Before he even has time to worry that he’s overstepped, Dean’s arms are winding around his waist in turn, beneath his robe, to hold Castiel just as close. Dean buries his face in Castiel’s neck, his breath shuddery and damp against Castiel’s skin.

Castiel threads the fingers of one hand through the hair at the back of Dean’s neck, soothing him with soft sounds and a gentle press of lips to the boy’s temple.

“Go to your father, Dean,” he whispers, even if the words pain him. “You can take as much time as you need, you know that. Sam will calm down.”

“I hate fighting with him, Cas,” Dean whispers, and Castiel aches for this (his) boy. “He just… He doesn’t get it.”

“I think Sam perhaps sees more than you realize,” he answers, keeping Dean close against his chest, “but the reason he doesn’t see it all is  _ because _ of you, little one. It’s an incredible gift you’ve given him.”

Dean shrugs, but doesn’t loosen his hold on Castiel. “I guess.”

They hold one another in silence for long, lovely minutes until Dean pulls away with a blush and a muttered excuse about “getting this over with.”

When Castiel goes back to his room, he thinks ruefully that he just took a giant step backward in his efforts to keep his hands off of Dean.

* * *

Still high off of Cas’ embrace  _ (awesome), _ it takes a second for the feeling of dread to really sink into Dean as he enters the apartment he  _ used _ to share with his brother and his father.

John Winchester is sitting at the shitty, beaten up table that’s shoved against the only free wall in the kitchen. He’s slumped in his chair, his eyes red and watery. It strikes Dean with surprise, seeing his father. He’s been around the crew for long enough now, people who go out of their way to take care of themselves, that it’s a shock to see someone who so clearly has a blatant disregard for his own person.

_ Goddamn, he looks like shit. _

It’s not until Dean’s almost right on top of him that John even looks up, and it takes a couple of beats even after that for him to focus enough to recognize his son.

“Dean,” he slurs, and Dean’s spine tingles with the low, angry note in his father’s voice.

_ Shit. _ “Dad,” he says evenly. “How ya feeling?” He stoops low to sling one of John’s arms over his shoulders and help him stand.

John squints at him, and does only the bare minimum to get on his feet. “The fuck have you been?”

_ Somewhere better. _ “Out with friends.”

“It’s too goddamn late to be out of the house,” John gripes. “And where the fuck is your brother?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sam’s at school, Dad, because it’s  _ nine in the morning.” _

Dean  _ forgot. _ He forgot how fucking  _ fast _ John Winchester can be, even when mostly drunk or hungover or whatever sort of limbo in-between he’s at right now. Maybe  _ especially _ then. He’s just spent so much time around people who have no  _ urge _ to hurt him, he’s gotten out of the practice of dodging hits.

The blow catches him absolutely unawares, and Dean almost goes down when pain  _ explodes _ at his cheekbone. John has suddenly found the will to stand on his own, and the fist he struck Dean with is still balled up at his side when Dean manages to swing his bewildered gaze back to look at his father.

“Fuckin’ backtalk me,” John sneers. “Hanging out with your punk friends, learning how to goddamn disrespect your goddamn father.”

Dean is suddenly way too tired for this. No, not just tired,  _ exhausted. _ He can’t imagine how he put up with his dad for so long when just a few minutes in his presence again has Dean feeling worthless, like he can’t do anything right at all. Christ, he was just trying to help the man  _ stand. _

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Sorry, Dad.”

John snorts and starts to sway on his feet again. “Fuckin’ right you are.”

Dean looks around the kitchen, one hand still held to his cheek. There aren’t any bottles around, which means that John is hungover, not drunk. He’s losing energy. That hit to Dean was probably all he had in him.

Dean just sighs again. “Let’s get you to bed, Dad.”

John gives him the stink-eye, which Dean would find kind of hilarious if he didn’t think it was so goddamn pathetic. “Telling me what to do, boy?”

Dean digs deep to find the patience he  _ used _ to have with his father. “No, Dad. I just think you’ll be more comfortable in bed is all.”

John hmphs, like he barely believes it, but he spins in place to head to the back bedroom. When he sways too far to the left, Dean lunges forward to catch him. “Easy, now,” he murmurs, guiding his father to bed.

Anger gone, forgotten in the alcoholic haze in which he lives his life, John’s much easier to handle now. Dean leads him to bed and helps him lie down. He strips his father’s boots off, revealing socks with holes in them, and tugs off his jacket. It was nice a long time ago, and Dean can still see the echoes of the father he used to have in it. Before the weight of the world rounded John’s shoulders, before the habit of drinking more than eating thinned him out, wasted him away where he used to be bulky. Oh, he still throws a mean right hook, and he can have some scary strength in small bursts, but overall? John Winchester is a diminished man.

He’s snoring by the time Dean lines his boots up by the door and hangs his jacket up on the corner of the headboard. He tilts his father’s head to make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit  _ (real classy roots you got there, Winchester) _ and walks out the door.

Out of habit, he checks the apartment for cleanliness. It’s obvious his father hasn’t been here very much, and the place is covered in dust. Even if he doesn’t live here anymore, it makes him itch to clean, and Dean finds himself carefully sliding out of his own, much nicer, leather jacket, hanging it in the coat closet, and rolling his sleeves up.

Cleaning is therapeutic for Dean. He can lose himself in the dusting, the sweeping, the washing of walls. It allows him to think,  _ really _ think about how different his life is now. How he looks forward to every day as he sits on his couch and drinks coffee. How he used to wake up filled with dread and a gritty determination to see Sam through at least one more day. He thinks about all of the things he had to do, he  _ had _ to do, to get them by. Now, even if Cas kicked them out today, Dean would never have to sell himself again.

Suddenly overwhelmed, he peels off his gloves and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. He opens it and types a quick message.

**To: Cas  
** Thank you.

He slips his phone back into his pocket, pulls his gloves back on, and goes back to work, feeling better.

When he gets to the bathroom, the smell makes it immediately clear that his father got sick in here, and didn’t quite make it to the toilet before puking his guts out. Dean wrinkles his nose and  _ almost _ walks out, but ultimately can’t bring himself to do it. John will do a cursory clean up of the room at most, and the thought of his father living in filth like this fills Dean with a deep, gut-wrenching guilt.

He goes to get the cleaning supplies, just ready to get this over with. At least it’s just alcohol. It looks like John didn’t even try to soak any of it up with food last night. Once he’s done, he puts the gloves and cleaning supplies away under the sink, then takes a look at himself in the mirror.

“Ouch,” he says softly, prodding gingerly at the rapidly darkening bruise just below his eye.  _ Not gonna be able to do crowd work like this. _ He’s not terribly worried about that, he’s more than pulled his weight as far as money being brought in. He can take a week off, and by that time, he can wheedle Charlie into covering him in makeup if he needs to.

_ Whatever. _

Once he leaves the bathroom, he heads into the kitchen. He’s not surprised to find it pretty barren, and he has to close his eyes and lean his forehead against the cabinet in defeat for a moment.  _ Dammit. _ Despite how tired he is, despite how much he wants to go home  _ (home) _ and crawl into bed and sleep for a week, he can’t leave the place like this. His dad’s gonna fucking starve to death if Dean doesn’t make sure there’s at least  _ some _ food here.

He pulls his boots on, then reaches for his jacket. As he slides the soft leather on, he gets just a moment of comfort. Just a beat of warmth, the memory of blue eyes looking into his while a big, warm palm cups the back of his neck. It bolsters Dean, and if it doesn’t actually make him smile outright, it does lift his spirits.

His cell phone vibrating in his pocket does so even more.

**From: Cas  
** For what?

Dean smiles for real now.

**To: Cas  
** Everything.

It carries him through running to the grocery store.

* * *

**From: Dean W.  
** Everything.

Castiel frowns down at his phone, feeling like the teenagers he cares for more and more as the minutes tick by. He won’t admit out loud that he’s anxiously awaiting Dean’s return, but at least to himself, he can admit that he’s anxiously awaiting Dean’s return.

_ Not that he’ll come here, _ he thinks sourly. He’s sitting in his own kitchen waiting for the sound of the door across the hall, knowing that the way he feels about Dean is completely out of hand. He  _ knows _ that Dean will go home, that he won’t want to be around anyone. If even a small part of what Castiel suspects about John Winchester is true, it will drain Dean to be around his father. He’ll go straight to bed  _ (maybe he’ll undress slowly, an unconscious tease, or he’ll fling his clothes off haphazardly, his only- No, no, no, stop it!) _ and probably sleep the day away.

Not that Castiel has studied Dean, or the way he deals with stress.

He sighs and pushes the phone away from where he’s been staring at it for the last forty minutes. He has  _ responsibilities _ to attend to. Charlie thinks she has a bead on Abbadon’s movements. Abbadon has hired someone named Azazel, who has apparently presented somewhat of a challenge as far as digging into his background. It’s only made Charlie more determined, and Castiel should really go to the shared apartment to check on her. She tends to absorb herself into her projects, and she-

The tentative knock at his door has him up out of his chair and halfway across the room before he manages to temper the excitement burning in his belly.  _ I haven’t felt this much since Cain. _

He opens the door to admit Dean, and all of his good feelings immediately flee.

A tired smile tugs at Dean’s lovely mouth. “Heya, Cas.”

_ “Dean.” _

At Castiel’s shocked, severe tone, Dean’s face falls, almost crumples. Castiel immediately reaches out to gently cup Dean’s neck and tug him inside. Dean comes willingly, standing close to Castiel as he closes the door behind them. He keeps his hand on the back of the boy’s neck.

Once they’re safely inside his apartment, he turns back to Dean, sliding his hand around to gently cup his chin. “What happened?” he asks.

Dean shrugs, his eyes dropping from Cas’. “Just Dad being Dad,” he mumbles.

Gingerly, oh, so gingerly, Cas’ thumb comes up to caress the bruise on Dean’s face, just below his eye. “I see.”

Another shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

Castiel frowns, and he uses his hand to gently tip Dean’s face up until he’s looking Castiel in the eye. “Dean,” he says softly, upset.

“He just…” Dean swallows hard. “Dad’s, uh… Dad’s kind of a drinker,” he whispers, eyes darting back down again.

Castiel sighs and, in this moment of weakness, tilts his forehead to press it against Dean’s. He wants to insist that it  _ is _ a big deal, that it’s a  _ problem. _ He wants to find John Winchester and  _ tear him apart _ for laying a hand on Dean, for daring to touch this boy.  _ His boy. _

_ Mine. _

He’s so desperately  _ angry, _ and the feelings of helplessness are making him rash, making him do this he wouldn’t normally allow himself. Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead, keeping him close. “I don’t want you to go back there, little one,” he confesses.

Dean sighs and relaxes in his hold, making Castiel shudder just a bit. He leans forward and loops his arms around Castiel’s waist in a casual manner that has his breath catching in his throat as Dean leans into him. “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback gets my motor running.  
> \- Come see me on [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper)


	8. Chapter Eight

Dick Roman is a horrible human being. Not that Dean is overly concerned about the morality of the mark at any given moment, but it’s kinda nice to know that he’s stealing from someone who not only can afford to lose it, but who also  _ deserves _ to lose it. 

Charlie’s the one who brought Dick to Cas’ attention. At first glance, Roman Industries is a kind of shell company. They have their hand in a lot of pies, from automotive manufacturing to medical testing to snack cake companies. Not really the kind of thing Cas usually involves the crew in, Dean knows, but it’s right up Charlie’s alley.

As impressive as Roman Industries’ defenses are, and Dean has been assured that the answer is “very,” Charlie went through them like tissue paper. It turns out that, though he makes quite a bit of money from the cars and labs and Twinkies, most of Dick’s profits come from his shadier dealings. He’s involved in shit like large-scale drug dealing, importing illegal firearms, and human trafficking.

When Charlie revealed that last charge, the look on Cas’ face let Dean know that they’d be going after Dick. So much of the sex slave trade that makes up a majority of trafficking is centered on victimizing lost children. The very same children from whom Cas tends to find new parts of the crew. Those blue eyes darted to Dean for a moment while Charlie was talking, and he knew Cas was thinking about Dean selling himself, about how quickly it could have gotten so much worse if the wrong person had come along. When Cas told Charlie that they’d be both burgling  _ and _ cyber-stealing from this motherfucker (Dean might be paraphrasing here), Dean knew that it was more about him than it was about money.

Dick is currently on an “extended holiday,” so his giant fucking house is empty. It’s the perfect opportunity to rob him blind.

* * *

Dean gets back to the bedroom they used as an entry point before Cas does. He wants to pace, or fidget, or maybe jump on the bed like a little kid while he waits, but he does none of that. He stands next to the window, attention split between the view outside and the door of the room, and waits for Cas to meet him here.

He also somehow manages to resist the urge to mess with his stupid uniform shirt.

Even though the place is empty, Cas still insisted they look the part. Cas says that only amateurs (read: idiots, he means idiots) would break into a house wearing black clothes and ski masks. Cas says the point is not to dress to avoid getting caught, but to dress as if getting caught is an inevitability.

“It’s not about whether or not we’re there,” Cas explained as he chose what they would wear. “We’re there, we’ve been caught. They  _ know _ we’re there. Our goal is not to convince someone that we are not there, but to convince them that we  _ belong _ there.”

Which is why Dean’s wearing the long sleeved grey button-down shirt and black slacks that make up the uniform for the cleaning company Dick Roman employs. If they get caught  _ (not fucking likely), _ they’ll just claim that they got their schedules mixed up.

It’s a good plan. It’s a  _ great _ plan. Just another way in which Cas is definitely a master of his craft. It’s just that the uniform… Well, when it’s on Cas, it’s  _ distracting, _ to say the least.

Cas is  _ criminally _ (heh) hot. His ass fills the slacks out like no one’s business. The grey shirt stretches lovingly over his broad shoulders and chest. Even though Dean kinda feels like a kid trying on his father’s clothes, Cas looks  _ good. _

When the older man walks back into the bedroom, Dean takes the opportunity to check him out again. His hair has been combed into submission for once in his life, but his eyes still sparkle in the minimal light they have in the room.

“Are you ready to go, little one?”

Dean smiles. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

In the weeks since Dean last saw his father, when he went to Cas first for comfort, Dean has completely given up fighting the feelings he harbors for Cas.

Oh, he’s not going to make a move. The things that held him back before are still relevant, if not even more so these days. It’s just that he’s all right with it now. He doesn’t try to stop himself from checking Cas out as he walks down the hall behind him. When Cas smiles and Dean’s heart stutters in his chest, he doesn’t berate himself for being a stupid kid with a stupid crush anymore.

Because it’s  _ not _ just a crush. He doesn’t just want to hold Cas’ hand, or for Cas to fuck him into oblivion. He wants  _ both. _ Dean doesn’t think he’d be really happy with one or the other. No, he’s just selfish enough that he wants everything Cas has to offer. He wants to fuck Cas, but he wants to hold him, too. He wants to go out to dinner with Cas, and he wants to stay in and just watch TV with him. He wants to help Cas build a closer crew, help choose their charges, become Cas’ partner in every way conceivable.

He wants to be with Cas  _ forever. _

And that’s just not fair, because Cas deserves so much better than Dean. Cas deserves a grown-up, first of all. Someone who has their shit together, someone who’s confident. Cas doesn’t need some teenager with too much baggage who won’t leave his younger-but-smarter brother to his own devices.

All of that’s fine, though, because Dean’s decided to be okay with it. He’s all right with being mostly in love with Cas, falling deeper every day. Hell, he can’t think of anyone he’d  _ rather _ have unrequited feelings for.

So, really. Dean’s all right with it.

Really.

* * *

When they get back, Dean’s too wired to go to bed just yet, so he offers to take everything from tonight’s job to the shared apartment and divide it accordingly. Cas agrees after a beat, and Dean watches as the older man goes to his own place for the night, then heads into the apartment.

He’s alone here tonight. Garth is already in bed, because Garth is somehow a seventy-five-year-old in a kid’s body. Sam’s at Kevin’s place, since there’s a big biology test coming up that they’re both nervous about. They’re probably still cramming for it, actually. Benny’s with Andrea again, much to no one’s surprise. Dean thinks there’s gonna be a ring soon, but Cas has thrown his vote in with Andrea being pregnant before Benny makes a more permanent move.

Dean tries to keep his thoughts away from Cas as he sorts the loot into piles. Bank statements, complete with account numbers, go into a stack to give to Charlie, so she can really fuck Dick up. There are a few bundles of hundreds from the safe that Cas cracked (a skill he’s promised to teach to Dean once he masters burglary) that he puts aside to be divided up. Finally, there’s a couple of watches that are probably worth ten grand each. They’re stupid, but they’re also small and mass-manufactured, so Dean couldn’t resist. Cas rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say  _ no. _ Dean slips those into his pocket so he can take them to the local fence tomorrow.

Unfortunately, that’s all he really has to do tonight. They got a lot, and he’s glad of it, but there’s not much else to keep him distracted from his thoughts.

His thoughts about Cas.

_ He deserves better, and you’re fine with that, _ he insists to himself as he sits down to count the bills from the bundles.  _ You’ve gone this long without someone, you didn’t just wake up one morning and start needing people. _

_ No, _ another voice, just as persuasive, says in his head,  _ you’ve just been with Cas for over six months now, coming up on a year, and you’ve wanted him the whole time. _

Dean sighs. Maybe he’s not  _ quite _ where he wants to be on the whole “I’m cool with Cas not wanting me back” train after all.

When the front door opens and Cas makes his way into the dining room where Dean sits, surrounded by piles of their ill-gotten goods, Dean starts to think maybe he’s not okay with anything at all.

* * *

Castiel is in love with Dean Winchester.

_ Dammit. _

He worked so  _ hard _ to not get attached to the green-eyed boy. He exercised all of his willpower to stop his thoughts in their tracks when they wandered. He hasn’t even  _ masturbated _ to the image of a flushed, thin chest and plush, ridiculously biteable lips.

And still, he failed. Miserably, spectacularly, and utterly has he failed at not having feelings for Dean.

It’s just that Dean is so…  _ Good. _ Though he’s only seventeen, he’s old in his soul, wise beyond his years. He’s selfless and irreverent and everything that Castiel has ever needed in his life, all wrapped up in a completely unavailable package.

So many things work against him. The age difference, of course. Castiel is a firm believer that age is just a number, but it’s more than years than separate he and Dean. It’s just as he told Charlie, Castiel himself might be the first person in Dean’s life to tell him that he’s good, that he matters. He’s the first adult to take care of  _ Dean, _ and not the other way around, full-time. That alone would skew the boy’s way of looking at him.

He also keenly feels the power imbalance between them. No matter how hard he tries to insist that it’s not necessary, Dean is always going to feel far too indebted to Castiel for him to feel comfortable approaching the boy. If Dean did say yes, Castiel would never be sure if it was because Dean really wanted him, or because Dean feared what would happen to his brother and himself if he upset Castiel by saying no.

Honestly, though, all of that is perfectly all right. He’s perfectly fine with loving Dean from afar.

_ Are you really? _

He wonders, sometimes, if this is how Cain felt before they fell into bed together. By that time, of course, Castiel knew well enough what was going on, and encouraged Cain’s attention eagerly.

_ If only Dean would do the same. _

The thought of it nearly makes him stumble on the way to his kitchen. The image of Dean’s green eyes, downturn in faux coyness, of his plush mouth, caught between his teeth as he demurely bites his lip. Castiel wants to  _ wreck _ him. He wants to mark the boy up, turn him into a trembling, babbling mess. He wants to make Dean come so hard the boy sees stars, wants to make him cry out until he’s hoarse.

_ Jesus. _

With the strange combination of nostalgia, adoration, and arousal swirling in his gut, he knows that sleep will continue to elude him for a while now. That’s all right, he needs to look over some paperwork that Charlie sent over, anyway. She was able to find some information about Azazel, but because of the Roman job, Castiel has been exceptionally distracted. Since this promises to be a sleepless night, it will be the perfect opportunity to go through it.

He makes his way to the shared apartment and assures himself that it’s not because he knows Dean might still be there.

* * *

_ Shit, shit, shit. _

Cas is coming in.  _ Fuck. _ It’s not that Dean doesn’t want to see Cas, obviously. He loves being around Cas, but right now all he can think about is how he can’t have Cas, about how he’s not good enough for the older man to even look at him twice, much less want him. Right now, he’s struggling with the idea that he’ll never get to kiss Cas.

Right now, it might not be the best time to see Cas, but he doesn’t have much of a choice, because the older man is standing in the kitchen now, an unreadable look on his face. He’s still wearing the grey shirt and black slacks from the job, but he’s just got socks on instead of shoes, and the top few buttons of the shirt have been undone, revealing tanned skin pulled taut over a delectable collarbone.

_ Shit. _

“Dean, is everything all right?”

* * *

“Dean, is everything all right?”

As much as Castiel is currently debating on whether or not it’s a good thing that he’s alone in this room with Dean, concern for the boy overrides everything. Dean looks a little ill, almost like he’s in pain. It makes something deep and protective flare to life in Castiel’s chest.

He wants to sweep Dean into his arms, carry him back to Castiel’s bed, and wrap him up in blankets until he feels safe, sheltered. He wants to hold Dean and press chaste kisses to his face until he feels warm and loved. Of course, he also wants to fuck Dean so badly it’s almost a physical pain in his solar plexus, but that’s beyond the point now.

None of that is an option available to him, so he settles for asking after Dean’s well-being.

“Thought you went to bed,” Dean says gruffly, his voice scratchy and strained. It makes Castiel even more desperately curious as to whether or not Dean’s actually sick.  _ With Sam’s exams coming up, it would only be right of me to offer to care for Dean myself while he’s ill, _ some crazed part of his brain is already rationalizing.

“I wanted to get some paperwork that Charlie sent about Abaddon and her gang.”

Dean’s eyes are on the table. He brings one of his hands up to rub the back of his neck, and Castiel tries not to find it appealing. “Oh, yeah. The, uh, the printer went off.”

He wants to insist that Dean tell him what’s wrong, but he’s not privy to that. He’s not Dean’s lover, or his boyfriend, he’s essentially his boss. He has no right to demand information from the boy.

So he smiles tightly. “Thank you, Dean.”

Maybe it’s because he’s moving closer to Dean, since he has to move around the table to get to the office. Maybe it’s because he was already looking at the boy. Maybe it’s because, since the moment he laid eyes on him, Castiel has been more in tune with Dean than he has any other human being he’s ever come in contact with.

Regardless of the reason, Castiel doesn’t miss the way Dean’s breath catches a bit, or the way his pupils dilate as he looks up and stares at Castiel coming toward him.

He stops, standing just in front of where Dean is sitting. He watches as Dean, seemingly almost against his will, turns in his chair to face him. “Dean,” he says, his voice low, soft.

“Y-yeah, Cas?” Dean’s voice is trembling just a touch.

“You know…” Castiel thinks for a moment, wanting to choose his words very carefully. “You know… You know that you can talk to me, yes? That there’s nothing you should be embarrassed or hesitant about coming to be with?”

Dean swallows hard, and Castiel is helpless to do anything but follow the movement. “Yes, sir,” the boy whispers.

Castiel can feel arousal start to pool in his belly. “And you know I won’t be angry or disappointed with you for doing so?”

“Yes, sir.”  _ This boy is trying to kill me. _

“Are you certain that there’s  _ nothing _ you’d like to tell me?”

The question hangs in the air between them. Castiel feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He’s standing too close to Dean, can feel the heat radiating off of him.  _ Move back, for God’s sake. _

For Dean’s part, he looks heartbreakingly tired. He somehow manages to look incredibly old, and still so young that it makes Castiel’s heart hurt. His hands are clenched into fists at his side. He’s gazing up at Castiel with those green eyes that seem to be begging him for something. It takes a few beats of staring into them to realize what it is.

_ I can’t. _

_ Well, I  _ can, _ but I shouldn’t. _

_ I could go to jail, and not even for stealing. In fact, I’ll probably go to  _ hell.

Dean lets out a soft sigh, like a resolution has been made, and Castiel realizes that it has.

_ But who lovelier to go with than Dean? _

When their lips meet for the first time, it’s because they’re meeting in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback gets my motor running.  
> \- Come see me on [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper)  
> \- *anxiously awaits your responses*


	9. Chapter Nine

In the moments before Cas’ lips touch his, as his eyes fall shut, time stretches out infinitely for Dean.

_Is this really happening? Am I asleep? Shit, what if I’m dreaming? I mean, I must be, because Cas doesn’t want me. Why would he want a teenager with admittedly more than one daddy issue who can’t take care of himself and doesn’t-_

His train of thought is thoroughly derailed by the tender way Cas captures his mouth. The older man’s lips move slowly, carefully on Dean’s as he stands. He tries to keep his own movements just as measured and thoughtful.

When he’s on his feet, he feels Cas place hesitant hands on his hips. They seem huge there, cradling him close. His body seems to radiate heat and Dean finds himself moving closer to it, letting the soothing warmth soak into him.

He slowly puts his own hands on Cas’ chest, telegraphing his movements clearly before he makes contact. The absolute _last_ thing he wants to do is scare Cas off. If this is a one-time, adrenaline-fueled thing for the older man, that’s fine _(it’s not it’s not it’s not),_ but Dean wants to savor every moment. That means he really needs Cas to not freak out and bolt.

One of Cas’ hands comes up to gently cup the side of Dean’s face. His palm scrapes against Dean’s stubble and his fingers lovingly wrap around the back of his head. The care in the gesture, though simple enough, makes the breath stutter in his chest.

Which makes Cas pause. To Dean’s dismay, he pulls away after a beat. He doesn’t go far, just enough to pull their mouths apart. He presses their foreheads together.

“Dean, I…” He swallows and those crystalline blue eyes open to look into Dean’s own. When he speaks again, Dean can feel Cas’ breath against his lips.

“I need you to be sure that you _want_ this, little one,” the older man rumbles. “You must be honest with me. I need to know you actually want this, and that you’re not here out of some… Misplaced feeling of obligation.”

Dean blinks and thinks carefully about his reply _(for once in your damn life)._

Everything Cas just said, in true Cas fashion, is really fucking up a lot of Dean’s beliefs. Dean doesn’t get to _want_ things. Wanting things implies that everything he _needs_ has been taken care of, which means that everything that _Sam_ needs has been taken care of. Since Sam is thirteen, growing like a weed, smart as a whip, and _must_ be protected against their father, that… Doesn’t really happen.

Cas’ words also seem to imply that Cas, himself, wants this. Not in payment for all of his kindness, maybe not even just as a one-time thing, which is blowing Dean’s mind. What the hell would Cas just… _Want_ Dean for? Cas is gorgeous, thoughtful, smart, and rich as hell. He could have anyone he wants, but here he is instead, his thumbs rubbing distracting circles into Dean’s hips.

 _Also_ in true Cas fashion, he reads Dean’s mind.

“Little one,” he says, voice strained, “I ask because I _want_ you. More than just this one time, and I want you, not payment, recompense, or anything as temporary or fleeting as that. I want _you,_ for as long as you’ll let me have you.”

 _Ah, shit._ Dean has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do. His eyes slip closed in frustration with himself.

“There’s no right answer here, little one,” Cas soothes.

Dean’s eyes snap open, and he speaks before he thinks as he glares into Cas’ blue gaze. “Stop reading my goddamn mind!”

He feels Cas’ eyebrows go up against his own forehead, then the older man starts to chuckle.

“I apologize. I find myself… Exceptionally attuned to you. Your train of thought is not difficult for me to follow.”

Dean swallows hard and frowns. Honesty about his emotions really isn’t one of his strong suits. As in all things, however, he would rather die than let Cas down, so he’s gonna do his damnedest.

He swallows again, gathering his courage. “Then,” and _Jesus fuck_ does he hate the way his voice breaks. “Then how can you not see how much I want you?” Goddammit, he sounds all watery and upset like a girl.

That does have the effect of Cas wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pulling him close, though, engulfing him in heat and solid flesh. Dean immediately winds his arms around Cas’ neck. Their foreheads are still pressed together.

“Dean,” Cas says softly, urgently, “I’m sorry, but I _need_ you to tell me out loud. As well as I know you, I have to have this before we go any further.”

“Why?” Dean can hear the petulance in his own voice and he hates it, but this would be so much easier if Cas would just get on with it.

He realizes that his eyes have fallen shut in frustration again when Cas threads a firm hand through the hair of the back of Dean’s neck and they open again. His breath catches when he sees Cas’ blue eyes burning so close to his own.

“I need you to give me your verbal consent with full knowledge that it’s because you want me, and not because you fear for your or your brother’s safety, because I want there to be no doubt. I want you to have no doubts whatsoever that you are _mine,_ and no one else’s.” His voice is low and rough, moving down through Dean’s body, making his cock twitch and making him feel broken open and used already. “When I have you flushed and begging for me, there will be no doubts. When you’re crying out, writhing in the sheets, covering both of us in sweat and come, there will be no doubt. When you have to cover up marks on your neck to go work a job, there will be _no doubt.”_

Cas’ fierceness softens a bit, and Dean is way too enthralled to do anything but listen to his whiskey voice.

“And I want _you_ to have no doubts that I want everything. I don’t just want to fuck you, little one. I want to hold your hand, I want to take you to dinner, I want you to know that you can tell me _anything._ I want to hear about your likes and dislikes, your fears and your hopes, _everything._ I want to fall asleep and wake up next to you. I want to count your freckles and find the constellations in them. I want you to have no doubts, little one, when you give me everything, that I will cherish it all, and you along with it.” Cas’ own voice is a little wobbly now. “So I’m sorry, darling. I know that it will be difficult for you to voice your desires out loud, but for us to move forward, you must. If you do not want to enter a relationship with me, I will understand completely, and you will encounter no repercussions. You need not say anything, if this is the case. We can walk away, go to our separate beds, and pretend this never happened.”

As Cas goes on about consent and consequences, Dean is reeling. _He wants me._ This wonderful man who has done _so much_ for Dean and his little brother, he _wants_ him. And not just for sex, but to _have._

Dean has never been able to be even a little bit selfish. Sam has, from the time he was a baby, gotten all of anything Dean has had to offer. Food, clothes, books, movies, money, Dean has always and without fail put Sam first.

He wonders what it would be like for someone to do the same for him.

He realizes in a detached sort of way that there are tears in his eyes. He wants to close them, to hide the way he’s feeling, but he doesn’t have to now. He knows Cas won’t judge him, and the older man is in a similar state, anyway.

“Cas,” he croaks, drowning in blue.

“Yes, little one?”

He struggles with himself for a few long moments. Cas stays silent, lets him work it out on his own.

Finally, more of a sigh than a declaration. “Yes.”

Cas lets out a shuddery exhale and his grip on Dean tightens, but Dean’s not done.

“I want you,” his voice is raw and sincere, more so than he’s ever heard. “I want it all. Jesus, Cas, I’ve always wanted it all. The fucking and the dates and the sleeping, _yes,_ I want _everyth-”_

He’s cut off by the press of Cas’ mouth to his own. He gasps against it, his fingers tightening on Cas’ shirt, then he moans and kisses back with everything he has.

Cas kisses Dean like he’s the center of his universe. His mouth is like goddamn magic, and when he licks along Dean’s bottom lip, it’s nothing to open for him. Cas can have anything, because Dean knows that Cas will give back twofold what he takes.

Cas’ exploration of his mouth is thorough, patient, and absolutely maddening. He demands participation, drawing Dean’s tongue into his own mouth, and they move in perfect sync. Before he can get a hold of himself, Dean’s panting and whining and rocking forward against Cas. When he feels the evidence of Cas’ arousal against his own, even through two pairs of slacks, he whimpers and presses harder.

Cas pulls away, but only goes far enough to press his lips to Dean’s ear. “We should go back to my bedroom.”

“Or here,” Dean pants. “Here’s good, too.”

Cas chuckles darkly. “Oh, no, little one. I intend to take my time with you. I want to take you apart and put you back together, and for that, I require a bed.”

Dean’s certain that his knees don’t _actually_ give out, because that would be ridiculous. He just… _Feels_ like clinging harder to Cas, pressed up against his strong chest and wrapped in his arms. He will, however, own up to the desperate whine in the back of his throat as he presses frantic kisses to the bolt of Cas’ jaw.

“Okay, okay, your room. Let’s go.”

Another deep chuckle. “Eager, little one?”

Completely fed up, Dean tilts his head so he can whisper back in Cas’ ear. “Since you’ve been looking at me like you want to bend me over and fuck me senseless since we met, I pretty much consider us all foreplayed out, don’t you?”

He feels pretty good about that, especially with the way Cas growls a little and tightens his hands where they’re holding Dean. He starts to maneuver them out of the shared apartment.

When they get to the hallway, Cas is basically dragging him by the grip he has on their twined fingers, which, _when did that happen?_ They get to Cas’ door, and as the older man digs into his pants pocket, Dean uses the opportunity to plaster himself to Cas’ side, shamelessly rutting against him.

Cas fumbles in his movements and Dean grins. He keeps one hand on Cas’ waist and moves the other to his front to cup his erection. He can feel Cas’ cock through the thin slacks they wore to tonight’s job. It’s hard and thick, and when he thinks of it inside him, he shudders and whines again.

“Come on, Cas, need you, please, I-”

While he was being needy, apparently, Cas’ control was wearing thin. Dean finds himself pulled around and pushed up against the door. Cas is a long, firm line of heat at his back, holding him there.

Cas nips the back of his neck harshly and Dean squirms. “Patience is a virtue, little one,” he chides.

Any response Dean was hoping for is gone when Cas takes his hips in hand and uses the hold to keep Dean still as he grinds against his ass. Just the feeling of it, a tease of what he really wants, has Dean moaning and dropping his head forward. He rolls back into Cas’ thrusts, shifting his legs further apart.

 _“Fuck,”_ Cas groans. “You’re so perfect.”

The praise makes something in Dean warm up in delight. His urgency is growing by the second.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, Cas, I can’t take it.”

He feels Cas smirk against his shoulder. “Please _what,_ now?”

It takes Dean a moment to figure out what Cas wants. When he does, he feels another flash of heat and want wash through him, making it hard to think.

“Sir,” he whispers. “Please, sir, _fuck me.”_

Cas groans, grinding hard into Dean one more time before pressing his entire front against Dean’s back. Dean watches, panting in the circle of his arms, as Cas _finally_ pulls his keys out and gets the door unlocked. Once it’s open, Cas doesn’t _actually_ shove him into the room, but it’s damn close.

* * *

Dean would like to say that he remembers exactly how they got here. That he can recall, with perfect detail, the two of them undressing, maybe savoring every inch exposed. How they got to Cas’ bedroom and fell neatly, gracefully into bed together.

That, however, would be a lie.

He can vaguely remember tearing his clothes off and stumbling into the bedroom in front of Cas. He remembers Cas’ words of both apology _(“I’m sorry, little one, I don’t mean to rush,”)_ and promise _(“I will make it up to you,”)_ as they both finally get to the bedroom.

Regardless of how they got here, they’re _finally_ here. Dean feels like he’s been waiting his whole life to be on all fours on Cas’ king-sized bed, with the man himself softly pressing kisses across his shoulder blades and down his spine.

“So lovely,” Cas is saying into his skin. “You’re beautiful.”

 _“Cas,”_ he whines.

“Shh, I told you that I wanted to take my time, and I will.”

Dean groans and shudders at the way Cas’ breath is fanning over his skin.

“Now, little one. I have a question, and I expect you to answer me truthfully.”

Dean has no idea what Cas thinks he’d lie about right now, but he agrees anyway, if a little breathlessly.

There’s a gentle hand on the back of his thigh. Another kiss is placed on the small of his back, just above his ass.

“Have you ever had relations with a man?”

Dean blinks, then snorts. “Cas, no one calls it ‘having relations.’”

A swat to his ass makes him squeak. “Very well,” Cas says, dark amusement in his tone. “Let me ask you another way.”

Dean finds himself enfolded in heat as Cas comes up and slots himself against Dean’s back. His cock nestles between Dean’s cheeks, making him whine with want.

His breath is hot against Dean’s ear. “Has this beautiful ass ever been _fucked_ before, Dean?” He punctuates the question with a gentle rock, pressing his cock against Dean’s hole. Though it’s dry, it’s perfect and it draws a moan from Dean’s throat.

Once the fog of lust clears from his mind a bit, he realizes what Cas means when he says he wants a truthful answer. He can see how maybe he’d lie about that kinda thing, how maybe he’d want to hide behind his pride to keep his virginity to himself.

But this is _Cas._ Dean trusts Cas more than he trusts almost anybody, except maybe Sam and Bobby. Okay, maybe it’s not the _best_ time to be thinking of his brother and his surrogate father, but the point is that Dean doesn’t feel the need to hide anything from Cas.

“No,” he whispers. “You’ll be the first, _sir.”_

Cas growls a little and Dean feels it everywhere, from where it’s just next to his ear to the way it rumbles in Cas’ chest, pressed up tight to his back.

“Hmm, good,” there’s thick satisfaction in Cas’ voice. “However, that does mean we’ll need to take it slow.”

_“Cas.”_

_“Dean,”_ Cas says, voice gentle and teasing. He lays kisses down Dean’s neck, making his way back down his back slowly. “I am not willing to hurt you, little one, not more than is necessary.”

Dean knows a little bit about gay sex, sure, but he _is_ a virgin. “Is it… Is it gonna hurt? A lot?” he despises how small and unsure his voice sounds.

Cas’ big hands gently skate down his sides and his legs, soothing Dean’s insecurities and fears before they even really have a chance to form. “Shh, darling, I will do everything I can to make it as pleasurable as possible for you, but I won’t lie. It will be uncomfortable at first.”

Dean nods, steeling himself. “Okay,” he whispers. “I trust you.”

The smile Cas presses into the small of his back feels wide and warm. “I shall do my utmost to make myself worthy of it.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the flowery language as Cas continues to kiss along his spine. He loses himself in the way Cas touches him, like he’s precious, like he’s adored and cherished. It’s intoxicating, so it’s understandable that it’s not until he feels Cas’ hands spreading him open that he realizes what Cas’ intent is.

By the time he does realize it, Cas’ warm, wet tongue is licking across his hole.

“H-holy _shit, Cas!”_

The older man just hums in acknowledgement, and Dean can feel the vibrations all the way down to his fingers. He lets his head hang as he whines and struggles not to rock back onto Cas’ face.

To which Cas responds by eating Dean out like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

It’s completely overwhelming in the best way. The little kitten licks Cas places along his rim and the long, broad strokes from perineum to hole. The way Cas will work the tip of his tongue in, driving Dean _insane._ There’s the way Cas’ stubble is leaving a wonderful burn in its wake, marking up his ass and thighs. The warm puffs of breath Cas is leaving on Dean’s spit-slick skin. The way his hands are both holding Dean open and kneading the thick muscles of his ass.

He completely loses himself in the pleasure Cas is giving him. Hot sparks are shooting from where Cas has his mouth on him up his spine, searing him and making it harder and harder not to push back.

He’s barely aware of the _snick_ of a cap opening, but he definitely notices when Cas presses a finger in alongside his tongue. It easily sinks all the way in, and Dean moans and arches back into it. He can feel sweat break out on his back, but he doesn’t care, totally enraptured by the feeling of _finally_ having Cas inside him.

Cas pumps his finger in and out, and Dean is grateful for the opportunity to adjust. Cas keeps up with his tongue, even leaving gentle nips to the hypersensitive skin stretched around his finger, further relaxing Dean into the feeling of intrusion.

The second finger comes with the feeling of being stretched that’s only uncomfortable until Cas sucks lightly on his rim around his fingers, which makes Dean cry out and buck his hips. The third finger burns, but it’s kinda in a good way. Dean bites his lips and rocks back into it, breathing harshly around the pleasure/pain as Cas continues to pump his fingers in and out.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” Cas coos, his voice soft and warm with adoration. “Look at you, all flushed and stretched around me, moving with me because you need it. Do you need it, little one? Do you need to be filled up?”

As he asks the question, Cas slowly slips a fourth finger in. His hand must be _covered_ in lube because Dean can feel the stuff starting to drip down his thighs. His dick is throbbing, precome running down his shaft.

_Jesus._

Dean opens his mouth to answer the question, more than ready to be done with prep, when Cas crooks his fingers and hits that bundle of nerves that whites out Dean’s vision, making him cry out and arch his back.

“Good,” Cas hums, not letting up on Dean’s prostate. He’s thrusting his fingers in and out, stretching Dean and hitting that spot every time. “So good for me, little one.”

Dean can feel Cas _everywhere._ In the way his ass stretches to accommodate the older man, in the way Cas’ words skitter along Dean’s flesh and make it feel tingly and too tight. And, of course, the jolts of overwhelming pleasure from each jab at his prostate.

It’s all too much. It’s building in him too fast, his belly tightening and his thighs starting to tremble.

“Cas,” he gasps. “Cas, oh, shit, I’m gonna, fuck, fuck, _fuck-”_

“Yes,” Cas growls, crowding up behind him again. “Yes, come for me, little one. Come for me _right now, Dean.”_

Dean’s entire world collapses in on him as he comes, untouched and screaming. Pleasure and heat almost send him into unconsciousness with intensity. Only Cas’ hands, one stroking Dean’s side and the other still four fingers deep, keep him even remotely aware as Cas works him through the aftershocks.

Dean floats on a wave of endorphins and bliss for an unknowable amount of time. He’s vaguely aware of Cas murmuring and rearranging him, but he trusts Cas to take care of him. He just coasts.

When he eventually comes back, it’s to Cas’ whispered words.

“-so beautiful, little one. You’re amazing, magnificent, lovely. I’m so proud of you, you’ve done so well. We’re done for tonight, you can rest. I’m so _proud-”_

 _Wait, what?_ “Wait, what?”

Cas blinks when Dean looks up at him where he’s hovering over him. Dean realizes that he’s on his back with Cas settled between his legs. Automatically, he brings them up to bracket Cas’ hips.

“What do you mean we’re done?” he demands, fighting back the floaty post-orgasm feelings.

Cas’ face softens. “Dean, this was your first time. You were extraordinary, but we should move slowly.”

“The hell we should! What was all that prep for, then?” Now that he mentions it, his ass feels unpleasantly empty.

“You’re already going to be sore tomorrow. I may, in fact, have gone overboard, and I don’t want-”

Unfortunately for Cas and all of his rational arguments, there are several things working against him.

Dean has wanted Cas for almost a full year now.

Dean is seventeen, and his impulse control is _nothing._

Dean has never really had anything purely for himself, and he’s already kind of addicted.

Working against him most of all, however, is that when he shifts again to argue down at Dean, the head of his still very erect cock presses against Dean’s still very lubed and open hole.

Both men gasp at the contact. Dean immediately cants his hips to press up harder, and he grins at the way Cas shudders at the contact.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean murmurs, keeping his voice low and even. “Fill me up, sir, want you so bad. Please, please, _please-”_

He’s cut off by Cas’ soft groan. He frowns when the older man sits back on his heels. It clears off of his face immediately when he realizes Cas is just reaching for the condom he already has out.

He watches hungrily as the Cas rolls the condom onto his leaking length. He pours more lube on (even though Dean’s ass still feels pretty damn wet to him), then spreads it around by jacking himself slowly. He finally meets Dean’s eyes again, and there’s a heat there that makes him shiver and spread his legs wider.

“Impudent,” Cas chides, though the censure in his tone is belied by the gentle way he puts a pillow just under Dean’s ass, putting him at the perfect angle. It’s only natural to wrap his legs around Cas’ waist, pulling him close.

“I just need you, Cas,” Dean says with a smirk, and it’s kind of a tease, but it’s mostly just true.

Cas must know that, can see it on his face, because he covers Dean’s body with his own, putting him close enough to kiss Dean deeply, reassuringly. “I know you do, little one,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Dean finds himself nuzzling Cas’ jaw, and is almost ashamed of his overly affectionate behavior before it hits him again that this is _Cas._

“Please, sir,” he whispers.

Cas doesn’t respond verbally, but shifts so that he can hold the base of his cock so he can start to press into Dean.

Dean’s exceedingly glad that he already came so that he can just _feel_ the way Cas is splitting him open, impaling him on his length. There’s a twinge of pain, more like discomfort, but it’s completely overshadowed by the wonderful, intense, overwhelming feeling of _Castiel._

He whimpers and wraps his arms around Cas’ neck, burying his face in his shoulder. _“Cas.”_

Cas shushes him, pressing little kisses to his neck and jaw as he sinks in slowly. He moves so, _so_ slowly, and Dean knows it’s to give him time to adjust. Even though prep was _thorough,_ this is the real deal, and it’s hard to take in that after a year of pining and dreaming and feeling hopeless, Dean is _here._

It’s forever before he feels Cas bottom out. Cas’ hips are pressed flush with his ass, and he’s so incredibly _full._ Full of Cas, full of awe. He thinks he might be whimpering into Cas’ shoulder, but he’s too focused on the sensations coursing through his body to check.

Cas stays precisely where he is, peppering kisses to Dean’s neck and shoulder and murmuring praise. Eventually, Dean adjusts to the intrusion, and he’s grateful for Cas’ patience.

He moves so he’s whispering into Cas’ ear when he speaks. “You can move now.” He punctuates his words by squeezing his inner muscles, and Cas makes a sound like he might be dying.

 _“Impossible,”_ he grits out, but he does pull out slowly.

“You like it,” Dean says breathlessly, letting his eyes fall shut to savor the drag of Cas against his inner walls.

“Desperately,” Cas admits easily, and then starts to fuck him.

It starts gentle, easy, a bit stilted while Cas tries to find a rhythm that satisfies both his need to make sure Dean enjoys this _(already did)_ and his apparently growing need to really just fuck the hell out of him. Dean murmurs filthy encouragements, rolling his hips up to meet Cas thrust for thrust. He’s not surprised at all to feel himself growing hard again, especially when Cas starts nailing his prostate with every other thrust, making him cry out and see stars.

He can tell that Cas is getting close. The slap of skin on skin is loud and echoing through the room, and the heat between them is almost unbearable. He’s _covered_ in sweat, and there’s a bead of it trickling down Cas’ neck in a way that’s entirely too enticing. His legs fall from around the older man’s waist, leaving Dean even more spread open and vulnerable for him.

“Gonna come for me, Cas?” Dean asks, smirking as much as possible while getting railed by the love of his life. “Wanna mark me up, make me yours?”

A wild, frantic light is burning in Cas’ eyes, and Dean wants more of it. “You already are,” Cas says, smug and accurate as hell.

“Come on, _sir,”_ Dean purrs, smiling for real as he watches Cas bite back a growl with a clenched jaw. “Want you to come inside, make me feel it for _days.”_

Cas is really pounding into him, both hands on Dean’s hips so hard there will be faint bruises there tomorrow. It’s getting hard to breathe, and Dean realizes with a faint sort of amazement that he’s about to come again.

Cas drops down, almost without warning, to land with his elbows on either side of Dean’s head. The sudden change in proximity makes his heart thud hard in his chest, and the change in angle makes him moan long and loud, especially since Cas shows no signs of stopping.

He presses his lips to Dean’s ear, and the way his breathing is so labored is driving Dean _crazy._

“I want you to touch yourself, little one,” Cas says, all authority and desperation rolled into one. “I want you to come for me again, can you do that for me?”

Dean’s out of sass now, he’s just nodding and already working one hand between them to wrap around his almost too-sensitive dick. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he chants, squeezing himself at the tip in a way that makes his eyes roll back in his head a little.

A particularly vicious thrust. “What was that?”

 _Bastard._ “Yes! Yes, I can come!” Jesus, he’s so fucking close, he’s about to blow.

“Yes, _what?”_

“Yes, _sir.”_

“Good boy,” Cas says, voice thick with satisfaction again, just before he leans down and bites down _hard_ on the junction between Dean’s shoulder and neck, which pushes Dean right over the edge.

He’s pretty sure he actually screams the second time he comes. He can feel himself painting their chests white, and one rope lands almost all the way up on his collarbone. He feels weightless, unaware of where he ends and Cas begins.

He manages to come back a little when Cas shudders hard above him, his teeth still latched onto Dean. _That’s gonna leave a mark,_ he thinks giddily.

He lets himself drift for a while, too wrung out to do much else. He knows he _should_ be helping with the cleanup, especially since he’s somehow both on top of and underneath two separate wet spots at this point. Instead, indulgently, he lets Cas wipe him down and maneuver him until they’re both under the covers with a clean comforter on top.

He doesn’t even try to pretend to fight it when Cas pulls him close. He finds the energy to cuddle into Cas’ chest, nuzzling the soft, warm skin there. When Cas chuckles, Dean can feel it beneath his cheek.

A soft kiss to the top of his head. “Sleep, little one. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” he murmurs before obeying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- ***squintier eyes*** This chapter was so fucking difficult. Please tell me if you like it, so the work will be worth it. *sobs* Please, please God, tell me it was worth it.


	10. Chapter Ten

Dean wakes up alone, but the sheets are still warm, so Cas probably isn’t far.

He takes a moment to take stock before he opens his eyes or moves. There’s a fierce ache in his ass, hips, and legs, but otherwise, he seems to be fine. Better than fine, actually, he’s  _ amazing.  _ The only thing outshining the pain in his lower half is the way his heart is thudding hard in his chest, a celebratory beat he can’t seem to stop.

_ Cas wants me. Cas  _ wants _ me. Cas wants  _ me.

He starts to smile.

_ … Cas fucked the hell out of me last night. _

“I know you’re awake,” Cas’ voice, deeper than usual with morning roughness, is heavily laced with amusement. “You’re a terrible actor.”

The smile doesn’t fade from his face even a little. “I’m a great actor,” Dean protests. “You just caught me in a moment.”

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted to easily the best sight he’s ever woken up to. Cas is leaning casually in the doorway, his hands occupied by two steaming mugs. He’s in a pair of tight black briefs, showing off his lean, muscular body. He’s smiling softly at Dean, affection and warmth in his eyes.

“Morning, Cas,” Dean croaks, a little overwhelmed by the wave of emotion rising in his chest.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas replies as he makes his way from the door to set both mugs on the side table. He climbs onto his side of the bed and sits propped up against the headboard.

Dean scoots up to sit next to him, wincing, close enough that their bare shoulders press together. He keeps the sheet tucked around his waist. He’s not sure why, God knows Cas saw everything there was to see last night, but it makes him feel a little better, more secure. Cas passes over a cup of coffee, which Dean sips gratefully.

As the warmth sinks into him, an abrupt thought occurs to him. “Shit, Sam-“

“Is already on his way to school,” Cas soothes immediately. “I sent him and Kevin on their way before I got coffee.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, momentarily derailed. “Dressed like that?”

“… Of course not. I put a robe on.”

Dean grins.  _ “So _ you took the robe off for me, huh? Wanna impress me, Cas?”

Cas smiles wryly. “Always.”

Dean blushes at the sincerity in Cas’ voice, looking back down at his coffee. “Thank you,” he says softly, suddenly shy as all hell. “For taking care of Sam.”

Cas’ big, warm hand lands on his thigh. He can feel the heat baking through the thin sheet, incredibly comforting. It looks good there, like it belongs there.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, his voice unreadable but warm.

There are a few beats of awkward silence before Cas sighs. “Dean,” he says, seemingly resigned. “I meant what I said last night, but I understand if you feel… Differently this morning. If you don’t-“

“No!” Dean doesn’t really mean to shout it, but he kinda does, anyway. He turns to look at the man next to him and lays the hand not holding a cup of coffee over Cas’, twining their fingers together on his thigh.

“I do,” he insists. “I do want this, like… A lot. I just…” He laughs, a stilted and forced sound. “I guess I’ve just never done the ‘morning after’ thing.”

Cas tilts his head. “Never?”

“Uh… I mean, here and there, but I usually dip right after.” Dean smiles a little. “Never woke up in a bed that wasn’t mine.”

Cas smiles back. “And how do you like it?”

“Well, if a sexy thief is going to deliver coffee in his underwear every time, I’ll have to do it more often.”

Cas’ smile brightens considerably. “I think that can be arranged.”

* * *

Once Dean’s stomach rumbles loud enough to remind them both that it’s time for breakfast, Dean reluctantly goes back to his own apartment to dress for the day. He pulls on clean underwear, a t-shirt, and a pair of jeans, then hurries back to the shared apartment.

He finds Cas standing just outside the front door, one hand raised to open it. Instead, he’s smiling at Dean, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Morning, Cas.”

While they’re not going to hide the change in their relationship, they’ve decided not to broadcast it, either. If someone asks or implies, they’ll be honest, but they don’t want to announce it, necessarily. Cas wasn’t opposed to the idea, but just the thought of it made Dean blush and hide his face in the older man’s shoulder, so he relented.

It’s not that Dean is anything but awed and proud and ecstatic about his relationship with Cas  _ (his relationship with Cas!). _ It’s just that, in the past, any attention paid to him or his actions has been overwhelmingly negative. There’s some a part of him, small and irrational, that fears the same will happen this time.

“Are you ready, little one?”

Dean smiles. “Yeah.”

Cas opens the door to the shared apartment without further comment and leads the way in. Dean takes a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves, and follows him.

As usual, Benny and Garth are in the living room. This time, Benny is playing the mark, while Garth is pretending to lift his wallet. In Dean’s experience, he’s only successful about fifteen percent of the time. Charlie’s here, too, working on her laptop intently.

Everything is quiet for a beat when they walk in, just long enough for Dean to relax.

And then Charlie lets out a whoop and starts to clap, which the other two boys immediately join in on.

Dean scowls.  _ How did she know? _ “What?”

“UST be gone!” Charlie crows, laughing. “Thank  _ God!” _

Benny’s chuckling. “It’s all over your face, brotha. Yours, too, boss.”

There are actual,  _ literal _ tears in Garth’s eyes. “I’m so happy for you!” He’s beaming.

Cas chuckles and places a hand at the small of Dean’s back. “All right, all right. Let’s all get back to work, then.”

* * *

That night when Sam gets home, Dean is in their apartment, debating the pros and cons of taking an entire change of clothes with him to Cas’ place tonight, or just pajamas to walk back in. As soon as he lays eyes on the kid, he knows he’s in for it.

Sam looks incredibly smug. “Heya, Dean.”

“Hi, Sammy,” Dean says hesitantly.

_ “So-o-o,” _ Sam says, drawing the word out longer than it needs to be, in Dean’s esteemed opinion, “a little birdie told me about a little  _ something-something _ going on last night.”

“You spend too much time with Charlie.”

Sam chuckles a little as he leans in the doorway of Dean’s bedroom. “So is this a thing now? Between you and Cas?”

Dean can feel his cheeks heating in a blush. “Uh… Yeah, it is.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Dean wrinkles his nose because the word “boyfriend” is  _ painfully _ high school, but nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Is it serious?”

“I think so?”

Sam smiles. “Good. I’m, uh. I’m happy for you, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Aw, jeeze, Sam. Thank you? I guess? Enough of that. No more chick flick moments, bitch.”

“You love chick flicks, jerk.”

* * *

The next few weeks, maybe not much changes, but they are by far the best weeks of Dean Winchester’s life. If he was the kind of person who used the word “bliss,” that’s exactly how he would describe it. As it is, he leaves that kind of language to Cas.

He and Cas were close before, but they’re completely inseparable now. Dean spends most nights in Cas’ bed, either being fucked within an inch of his life (amazing) or just being held (just as amazing, if not more). They usually share a cup of coffee before Dean goes back to his apartment to make breakfast for Sam and see the kid off to school.

In the afternoons, they go back to the shared apartment together. Sometimes, Cas still goes into the office to work, but more often now he stays and coaches them through paces and drills. If not, Dean will still sit with Charlie while she tries to teach him to use the internet, or he’ll go out with Benny to grocery shop (never without pressing a gentle, shy kiss to Cas’ lips in farewell, if only to see the way the older man’s eyes light up at the affection).

The evenings still, as always, belong to Cas.

Both crowd and roof work were always amazing with Cas, but they’re fucking  _ transcendent _ now. Their nonverbal communication is  _ insane, _ able to communicate intricate ideas with just their facial expressions, a twitch of a wrist, or a hundred other subtle cues. Dean gets closer and closer to bringing home as much as Cas does.

On their days off, Cas will sometimes accompany Dean to Bobby’s tavern, or take him to one of the dozens of nice restaurants in the area that Dean never thought he’d be able to step foot in. Sometimes they’ll stay in, and Dean will show Cas one of the  _ hundreds _ of movies he’s never seen  _ (“Should I be jealous of this Ford person, then?” “Cas, babe,  _ everyone _ should be jealous of Harrison Ford.”) _ while they cuddle on Cas’ couch under a throw.

There are other changes, too, sneakier ones. Like, no one has ever  _ touched _ Dean as often as Cas has in the last weeks. There’s always a hand on his back or his shoulder, or fingers threaded through his own under the dinner table. Cas kisses him passionately, shoving up against walls or down onto the bed, but he also presses chaste kisses to Dean’s knuckles, cheek, or forehead when the occasion calls for it. It always makes the crew roll their eyes and catcall them while Dean blushes, but it’s… Nice.  _ Really _ nice. Dean thinks, once he actually  _ does  _ think about it, that he might even be a little touch-starved, but somehow, he doesn’t feel pathetic when he goes to Cas and curls up in his arms. Probably because Cas has made it clear that he wants it just as bad.

There’s also the lack of  _ angst. _ The only real thing that was causing Dean any sort of trouble since they got here was Cas and his relationship with him. Now that it’s resolved, now that it’s everything he’s ever wanted, Dean is happier than he’s been in a long time.

Maybe ever.

* * *

Castiel’s life is almost picture perfect these days. The crew is the best he’s had in years, not to mention they’re close (thick as thieves, one could say). Charlie’s sticking around, too, which is nice. Jobs are going extraordinarily well with everyone, even  _ Garth _ went to an outdoor concert a few days ago and was only caught three times, a personal best for the boy.

And then…  _ Dean. _

Dean is generous and beautiful and absolutely  _ magnificent. _ In the bedroom, he’s all wide-eyed pleasure, insistent pleading, bite-swollen lips, and heaving chest. He’s the most fun Cas has had with someone in bed  _ ever, _ including Cain, although Cas will keep that tidbit to himself. Cas can’t get enough of losing himself in the young man until they’re both covered in sweat and delirious with pleasure.

Outside of bed, Dean is shy affection, warm green eyes, secret smiles, and voracious cuddling on the couch. Cas can’t stop  _ touching _ him, even weeks later, to reaffirm that Dean is here, Dean is happy, and Dean is his.

It’s everything Castiel has ever wanted. All he has to do now is defend it.

The only thing that threatens his peace is Abaddon and Azazel. They’ve been doing sloppy smash and grab jobs, leaving huge messes but no actual damning evidence. For someone as meticulous as Cas, it’s maddening to see his profession so thoroughly bastardized. If he wasn’t determined to catch and deal with them before, he certainly is now.

He’s reading through Azazel’s profile in his office when there’s a knock at the door. The whole file has given him chills and a general uneasy feeling. He’s a thief, to be sure, but Castiel also suspects that he’s an arsonist. In his picture, his eyes seem almost  _ yellow _ in the grainy image, but more disturbing is that one can see how unhinged the man is, even in a low-quality shot such as the one in Cas’ hand.

“Come in,” he says, still scanning through information.

“Hey, you.”

Dean’s shy greeting has Cas looking up, a smile automatically on his lips for his boy. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas, you know that it’s like, eight o’clock, right? It’s definitely time to shut up shop for the day.”

Cas sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, resting his elbows on the desk “I know, I know, it’s just that-”

“Abaddon’s crew hit again last night,” Dean finishes for him, nodding. “That cashier got hurt, and it wasn’t more than twenty blocks from here. I know.”

“I feel like it’s my responsibility to catch them and put a stop to it. Before any other innocents are harmed, of course, but more urgently, before any of  _ you _ are harmed.”

Dean makes his way across the office and rounds the desk until he’s standing next to Cas. He runs gentle fingers through Cas’ hair, and he has to stop himself from purring like a cat at the touch.

“Cas, you’re not going to catch her tonight,” Dean’s words are as soft as the fingers in Cas’ hair, “and you’re not going to catch her at all if you’re too tired. Come to bed.”

“Just another hour,” Cas insists, even as he tilts his head into Dean’s hand. “I almost have an understanding on this Azazel character, I just need a bit longer.”

Dean takes the back of Cas’ office chair and pushes until Cas turns to face him. He opens his mouth to object, but it’s left hanging open and stunned when Dean drops to his knees on the carpet between Cas’ spread legs. His cock twitches when Dean bites his lip and ducks his head demurely.

“At least let me help you relax a little,” the boy says, like he’s an innocent, like he doesn’t know  _ exactly _ what he’s doing to the fire in Cas’ blood.

“Dean, I-”

His words are stolen again by the way Dean places warm hands on Cas’ knees and runs them slowly up his thighs until they’re  _ almost _ where he wants them.

“Please, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “You’ve been working so hard. I wanna be good for you.”

“You are, little one, so good for me,  _ so good.” _

Dean smiles and leans down, shamelessly nuzzling Cas’ growing erection through his slacks. Cas growls a little, rolling his hips up to press against the boy’s face. Dean stays still, lets him do it, which draws another hearty groan out of Cas.

“Jesus, Dean.”

“Please,” Dean asks again, his eyes pleading where he looks up at Cas through his lashes. “Let me do this for you.”

Cas barely hesitates for a second before he gives a sharp nod. Dean smiles, then goes back down to nuzzle and mouth at his cock again, leaving wet spots on his slacks.

“Take me out,” Cas says, almost surprised at how deep his own voice is. “You know what to do, little one, I won’t tolerate teasing.”

Dean’s deftly undoing his button and unzipping his slacks. “Yes, sir,” he says, almost a whimper as he pulls the waistband of Cas’ briefs down and tucks them behind his balls, freeing his cock. Cas hisses a little as the cool air touches his flesh, and Dean leans forward to place feather-light kisses along the underside of his cock in apology.

Cas realizes he has the arms of his office chair in a death grip and forces himself to relax the fingers of one hand enough so that he can reach out and cup Dean’s face. Unselfconscious and adoring, Dean tilts his head into Cas’ hand, green eyes warm where they’re looking at him steadily.

_ Oh, my. _

Cas shoves down the more tender, tangled feelings that are fighting for dominance in his chest and cards his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Ready, darling?”

“Always ready for you, sir,” Dean husks. Without preamble, he then leans forward, opens his lovely mouth, and takes Cas in almost down to the hilt.

“Oh,  _ fuck,” _ Cas moans, bending over where Dean is sucking him down, his head bobbing rhythmically. The wet heat of his mouth is  _ incredible, _ it takes all of Cas’ willpower not to thrust into Dean’s mouth. Especially when he feels himself hit the back of Dean’s throat and the boy just swallows him down. He can feel the muscles of Dean’s throat constrict and compress him with the movement, making him whine and shudder at the sensation.

“Fuck,  _ Dean.” _

The pace Dean sets is relatively languid, but he’s certainly not being lazy. He keeps up a hard suction. Every time he’s got Cas all the way in his mouth, he swallows and works the big vein on the underside of his cock with his tongue. When he’s backed off enough that just the tip in his mouth, he teases the slit with his tongue while gently massaging Cas’ balls in his hand.

In no time at all, Cas is helpless against the heat building in his belly. He fights the urge to buck, to hold Dean down and just take him, because this is  _ not _ a scene, they did  _ not _ agree to that, and no matter how amazing it would be, he won’t hurt Dean (unless Dean asks very nicely for it).

“Dean,” his voice is so ragged, “Dean, I’m going to-”

Dean hums his assent around Cas’ cock, closing his eyes as he does so. The vibrations sending shockwaves from his cock and up his spine are the last straw for Cas. His eyes roll back as hot pleasure crashes through him, and his hips stutter as he empties himself into Dean’s mouth, moaning and twitching.

Dean swallows every drop and cleans Cas with his tongue, his lovely green eyes fiery and dilated as he looks up. Cas has rarely seen anything so beautiful as Dean appears to him right now, and as he catches his breath, he finally admits, at least in his head, that no more work will be done tonight.

Dean tucks him back into his pants lovingly, then stands in front of him. “Okay, well, I’m-”

Cas surges to his feet and clamps a hand on the back of Dean’s neck, making the boy squeak. He drags Dean close until he’s pressed to Cas, where his hands fist in Cas’ shirt and he gives a shuddery little moan.

Cas presses his lips to Dean’s ear. “Did I say I was done with you, little one?”

Dean presses his erection to Cas’ hip in gyrating little circles, seemingly helpless to stop. “No, sir.”

Cas kisses Dean’s cheek, his lips catching on the stubble there. “Would you like some help with that?”

“Please, sir.”

Cas smiles. “Well, then you’d better hope no one is awake to see you walk to the bedroom like that, little one.”

When Dean turns to look at him, the happy mischief in his eyes makes Cas’ soul feel lighter than air.

* * *

The next morning, Dean wakes up in Cas’ bed, as usual. The man is facing away from him, and Dean cuddles up to his back, throwing an arm around his waist, unsure of what woke him up but unwilling to lose the warmth.

Another buzzing sound interrupts his descent back into sleep, and he realizes that it’s his phone ringing.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice is deep, rougher than it is during the day. “What is that infernal noise?”

“Phone.”

“... Ignore it,” Cas orders, turning around so he can gather Dean to his broad chest, where he goes happily.

“Was gonna.”

The horrible noise stops just long enough for Dean to relax before starting back up again. With a curse, he disentangles himself from a grumpy Cas and reaches over to grab the horrible little device. As soon as this call is over, he’s gonna toss it into the toilet, crawl back into bed with Cas, and stay there forever.

“‘Lo?”

“Dean?”

At the sound of the trepidation in Bobby’s voice, Dean feels his stomach drop. It’s like the universe knows that Dean has had a few weeks of uncomplicated bliss, and he’s not  _ allowed _ that much happiness. Hasn’t his life thus far taught him  _ anything? _

“Dean?” Cas asks, responding to the tenseness in Dean’s limbs.

“What is it, Bobby?”

“... Look, there ain’t no easy way to say this. Your daddy died last night, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm sorry about the sort-of cliffhanger. I'm the worst. :( Poor Dean.  
> \- Feedback gets my motor running!


	11. Chapter Eleven

“And Jesus said unto his disciples, ‘Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.’ From these words, we can draw comfort…”

The pastor, whom Castiel is relatively certain never met John Winchester in his life, drones on. Castiel shifts a little, glancing up to make sure the umbrella he’s holding is covering Dean, too.

_ Fitting, that it should rain on the day of John’s funeral, _ he muses.

The only people here are himself, Dean, Sam, and Bobby. Bobby stands next to the younger Winchester, who’s silent and withdrawn, holding an umbrella over him, too, as the pastor drones on. They’re all dressed in the appropriate black attire, making a dreary, awful day seem even more dreary and awful.

Cas hasn’t been to many funerals in his time, but working outside the law in any capacity is playing with fire, so he’s been to a few. He knows what it sounds like when the person performing the service has no idea what the deceased was like. Luckily, he managed to arrange with the church so the man didn’t mention John’s children or parenting, which Castiel and Bobby agreed would probably be for the best.

John Winchester got drunk one night, almost a week ago now, and tried to drive himself home. On the way there, he managed to crash the Impala into a tree instead. Dean was told that the man died on impact. The day they called on Dean to identify the body was one of the worst moments of Castiel’s life. Watching Dean’s body tense infinitesimally, watching the disbelief and shock cloud those lovely green eyes almost killed him. He can’t imagine how terrible it was for Dean himself.

Once the dust settled a bit, Castiel asked Charlie to take care of the legal paperwork. When he expressed that he was concerned the Winchesters would be asked to move out, the protective glint in Charlie’s green eyes comforted him. Not two days later, she came back with paperwork proving that Dean was legally emancipated and granted guardianship of Sam. Castiel told Dean about it, but he’s not sure it really sunk in.

Dean is currently standing next to Cas under the umbrella, eyes dull and unblinking as he watches John’s casket be lowered into the grave. The only outward sign of his distress is the way he clings to Cas’ hand, gripping it so hard it starts a dull ache in the older man’s fingers.

Dean has been completely unresponsive since they got the news about John Winchester’s death. It’s starting to scare Castiel, but he doesn’t know what else to do but quietly support Dean, to be there for him.

So he just holds his boy’s hand and makes sure he’s shielded from the rain.

* * *

The letter stating that Dean has inherited the Impala is met with impassive silence on the boy’s part. It makes Cas’ chest ache again.

It’s been three weeks since John died, but his presence is still very much felt. Dean has taken to staying wherever Cas is, either in his rooms or in the shared apartment, unless Cas goes out on a job. Dean was adamant that he stayed home.

His eyes were clearer than they had been in days. “Cas, I just…” he swallowed hard. “I just can’t,” he finally whispered.

Cas let him stay home, and hasn’t asked Dean to go out since. He likes to think he can feel how grateful Dean is when Cas just places a firm, brief kiss to his temple on his way out the door.

Now, they’re sitting side-by-side in bed, drinking coffee in their morning ritual that hasn’t changed at all, though Dean is distant and despondent. He’s holding the letter in his hand, resting on his lap, and he’s staring at the opposite wall dully.

“Dean? What are you thinking?”

“I think… What’s the point?” Cas’ blood freezes in his veins before Dean continues blandly.

“Dad wrapped the damn thing around a tree. What’s the point of giving it to me? Probably just parts now.”

Cas knows how much Dean loves the Impala. He’s spent many a night with his chest pressed against Dean’s back, watching as the boy talks with his hands about his father’s car, calling it his “baby” and “the perfect car.” He knows that, during the stretches of time when John was gone and Dean and Sam were alone, Dean often spent long afternoons underneath Baby’s hood, tuning it up and lovingly taking care of it.

“You could repair it- _ her, _ you could repair  _ her,” _ he says quickly, inspiration making him sit up a little.

Dean turns to look at him, brow furrowed. Negative reaction though it is, it’s more emotion than he’s shown in days, so Cas take it as a good sign.

“We don’t have a garage,” Dean says slowly. “I mean, the parking garage, but that’s not really the same thing.”

“We can rent garage space, I’m sure. Bobby might even have some ideas of where to go.”

Dean nods slowly, and a little bit of the tightness Cas has carried around his heart since they got that damned phone call lessens.

“Yeah. Uh, yeah. Okay.”

* * *

So begins the days of Cas going asleep alone, only to wake up just enough to hear Dean coming to bed, then waking up alone again. Dean spends all of his time at the garage, comes home smelling like motor oil and sweat. It would get Cas a little riled up if the situation were different.

They haven’t had sex since that phone call, however. Cas isn’t upset about the lack of physicality, of course, but he’s worried about Dean. Dean, who responds so beautifully, almost  _ gratefully, _ to any sort of touch, has done nothing more than give Cas a peck on the lips in the last several weeks. He doesn’t shy away, but he doesn’t seek it out, either. Not anymore.

Cas knows that it’s because Dean blames himself for his father’s death, but he’s at a loss as to how to fix it.

Sam, after the initial shock, has recovered rather quickly. He’s saddened, of course, but Cas knows that he didn’t have the relationship with their father that Dean did. Sam has no memories of John being a different person than the shadow he was after his wife died, but Dean has vague, hazy ones. Sam is more worried than Dean’s reaction to their father’s death than having any real reaction of his own. He and Cas discuss it frequently, but they come to no satisfying conclusion.

Cas doesn’t know what else to do for Dean, so he does just this. He’s there for him, he holds him in his sleep and lets him go easily when he wakes. He’s just as open with his affection as he always was. He doesn’t take it personally that Dean doesn’t seem to have any interest in sex at all. It occurs to him that this might be an advantage of their age difference, for once. Cas has gone through enough to know that Dean will come back to him.

_ … I hope. _

* * *

Dean is exhausted when he drags himself back into Cas’ apartment, but that’s really nothing new.

He lets himself in and goes directly into the bathroom, strips off his clothes, and steps into the shower. Normally he prefers hot showers, but he turns the water to shockingly cold and leaves it there. He leans against the wall, lets the spray wash away the grime and the aches of the day, and thinks.

The last two weeks have been a blur of a sort of dull exhaustion, working on Baby, waiting on parts to get here so he could replace them, and coming home to collapse next to Cas, who’s unfailingly there to hold him and press a kiss to his forehead. He hasn’t really  _ worked _ since his dad died, but Cas hasn’t said anything about it. He just kisses him goodbye in the mornings and hello every night. It feels like Cas is the only constant Dean has in his new world of swirling emotions and long swathes of time lost to a grey fugue.

Dean gets out of the shower, dries off perfunctorily, brushes his teeth, then goes to the bedroom to crawl in next to Cas.

The older man turns, one corner of his mouth quirking up a little. He holds his arms out, one holding the comforter up to let Dean curl up next to him. As he does every night, Dean wraps around Cas as much and as tight as he can, burrowing into his sleepy warmth. And, as  _ he _ does every night, Cas holds him just as tight, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, cheekbones, then to the tip of his nose.

“Sleep, little one,” Cas whispers.

Dean obeys.

* * *

The next day is the same.

* * *

As is the next.

* * *

And the next.

* * *

Over a month since Dean’s father dies, when he steps into the shower, it suddenly sinks in for him  _ why _ he’s been walking around in such a deep funk.

Dean loved his father, he really did, and of course he’s upset that he’s gone, but that’s not what this is about. He thought it was about feeling guilty about his father’s death, about thinking that if he had just  _ been _ there, if he had just been  _ around, _ maybe John would still be alive. He thought he was drowning in guilt and self-loathing, and he is, but not for that reason.

Dean doesn’t feel guilty about his father’s death, he feels guilty about now  _ not guilty _ he feels.

Sure, he missed his father while he was gone, and he felt bad about how little he thought about John since he moved here with Cas, but for fuck’s sake, Dean couldn’t have  _ done _ anything. He can’t count the number of times John took the keys, kicked the shit out of Dean, and left despite his son’s desperate protests. Even if he’d been there, Dean couldn’t have stopped his father from driving that night.

And that thought, the idea that he, himself, is guilty of nothing, is what’s keeping Dean from being able to move on.

Shouldn’t he feel guilty?  _ Shouldn’t _ he feel responsible for his father’s death? Isn’t there a chance, albeit quite remote, that he could have done something to prevent it?

When his thoughts turn this way, instead of agreeing with himself, a cool, controlled voice (that sounds remarkably like a thief he’s crazy about) says, “No, there isn’t.”

After that, all of the accusations and self-recrimination goes quiet. Dean  _ doesn’t _ feel guilty about John Winchester dying in a drunk driving accident, and that’s really tripping him up. It’s kind of pulling the rug out from under his self-loathing complex.

On the heels of this realization comes another.

There’s a reason the voice in his head that defends him from himself sounds like Cas. Because Cas, in the almost year that Dean’s been with him, has taught Dean a lot about what he’s responsible for and what he’s not.

He’s responsible for the theft, for the job, for the heist. He’s responsible for being prepared, should he be caught. He’s responsible for getting in and out as smoothly as possible.

He is  _ not _ responsible for things that are completely out of his control. Like actually  _ getting _ caught, security measures he couldn’t have known about, or if whatever it is he’s there to steal is gone.

Or his father’s death.

_ Cas _ is the reason he feels this way. Cas, who’s been steady as a rock while Dean has been drowning at sea, holding him up, keeping the bed warm, not pressuring him for anything. Cas hasn’t asked for sex, or affection, or even really Dean’s attention while he’s been sorting himself out. Cas has just… Been there. Cas has been supportive as hell and Dean’s been a ghost.

For the first time in a month, Dean turns the water to hot in his shower.

He still washes quickly, though, almost absently. He dries himself and brushes his teeth the same way, suddenly in a hurry to get to Cas.

He wants to tell Cas how much the last month means to him. How Cas’ quiet support and affection  _ (love) _ has kept Dean going. How Cas is the star in the sky that brings Dean home, the exact center point at which his universe rotates.

But Dean doesn’t have the words for that, and he never has. What he  _ can _ do is  _ show _ Cas how much it means to him, with lips and tongue and hands.

When he gets to the bedroom, Cas is sprawled on his back, one arm thrown out as if searching for Dean. It makes his heart stutter in his chest, and the way he loves this man in front of him overwhelms him for a moment as he watches him sleep.

He walks over to the little bedside table and, as quietly as possible, pulls the drawer open to pull out the bottle of lube and a condom. He strips quickly, silently, then crawls onto the bed as slow as he can, doing his best not to wake his boyfriend  _ (boyfriend!). _

Watching Cas warily for signs of waking up, Dean pops open the lube and coats his fingers. Closing the bottle and setting it aside once he’s satisfied, he balances himself on his knees, straddling Cas without actually touching him, and reaches behind himself to gently press the pad of his finger to his hole.

He shudders with the touch, rubbing in gentle, quick circles to get himself to relax. As soon as he can, he gently sinks in the tip of one finger, arching into the stretch. It’s not long before he’s up to his entire finger, then two, gasping softly and revelling in the sharp stretch he feels. Cas is always so gentle with him, so considerate, but after the last several weeks, that’s not really what Dean needs.

_ Or deserves. _

Dean gets so into the movement of his fingers within him as he scissors himself open, shuddering and biting his lip to contain his moans, that he doesn’t realize Cas is stirring until he hears the man beneath him gasp,  _ “Dean,” _ and big hands slide up his thighs.

Dean smiles down at his boyfriend, sweaty and flushed as he moves back onto his fingers. “Heya, Cas,” he says softly, almost a whisper.

Cas’ eyes are dark and hungry, but his grip is gentle on Dean’s legs. “Hello, little one. What…” He swallows. “What is all this about?”

“You’ve been taking such good care of me,” Dean moans as he works a third finger into himself, kind of showing off now, “wanted to do the same thing for you.”

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is strained, but the slightest tone of censure in it makes Dean’s cock throb in response. “You know you don’t need to reciprocate.”

“Wanted to,” Dean whimpers, swivelling his hips down enough so that his hand brushes Cas’ hard cock through his briefs. Cas growls beneath him and Dean grins at him. “Want to make you feel good, Cas.”

Cas surges up, making Dean yelp in surprise as the older man wraps his arms around him and pivots until Dean is on his back. Cas takes care to make sure that Dean pulls his fingers out of himself and moves his arm so that it’s not crushed, and to make sure neither of his legs gets twisted in the move. The attention to detail, the dedication to Dean’s comfort and welfare, crumbles what little bravado Dean managed to build up by his brazen act. He feels the tears well in his eyes and he buries his face in Cas’ shoulder.

Cas, of course, realizes that something’s different immediately. “Dean? Did I hurt you? What-”

“No,” Dean gasps, shuddering from emotional overload combined with devastating arousal. “No, I’m fine, please don’t stop.”

Cas stills on top of him, then one hand comes up to cradle Dean’s head. Cas presses a kiss to his temple and settles down further onto Dean, letting his comforting weight hold him down. “It’s all right. We don’t have to-”

_ “Please, _ Cas,” Dean whimpers. “I need you. Fuck, need you so bad, missed you, I’m so sorry-”

“Shh, darling, I’ve got you. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean isn’t really clear on how his kind of kinky, sexy wake-up call for his boyfriend turned into Cas gently holding him with one arm as he uses the other hand to roll a condom on. Dean presses shaky, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along Cas’ shoulder and neck, desperate to show and receive the affection Cas so readily offers all the time.

Cas hushes him again as he readjusts, resting his weight on his forearms and settling again between Dean’s legs. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs in his rough voice, pressing gentle kisses along Dean’s cheeks and over his closed eyes. “I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry, Cas, I’m so  _ sorry-” _

“None of that,” Cas says gently as he presses the tip of his cock to Dean’s ass. His voice is firm, brooking no argument. He cups Dean’s face in his hand, and Dean’s not sure he’s ready to have a  _ moment _ right now, but since he started it, he just wraps his legs around Cas’ waist, tilts his head into the man’s hand, and keeps steady eye contact, even through his teary eyes.

“You are more important than your reaction to terrible news.” Though Cas is calm, his words are fierce. “You are more important than the set of circumstances you find yourself in. You are…” Cas’ voice gets a little wobbly here. “You are more important to me than  _ anything.” _

Dean rears up and presses his mouth to Cas’, overwhelmed. Luckily, the older man seems willing to pour the rest of his heartfelt emotions into kissing Dean senseless as he starts to slowly sink in. They both moan when Cas bottoms out and stays there, letting Dean adjust. They were having sex frequently enough before The Phone Call that Dean was usually pretty stretched out and needed very little prep. It’s been so long, though, that even with prep, Dean can feel how tight he is, and the way Cas fills him up has him moaning against the older man’s lips.

_ “Dean,” _ Cas groans. “I need to-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, come on, come on-”

Dean’s whine of pleasure cuts his words off as Cas pulls out. The feeling of him against Dean’s inner muscles has Dean’s eyes fluttering shut, even as his nails dig into Cas’ back a little bit.

“Dean, look at me.” Dean obeys without a second thought, and is immediately drowning in that deep blue he loves so much.

“Stay with me,” Cas pleads, and Dean’s already nodding, already ready to promise Cas anything. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” Dean whispers, and Cas presses back in.

Cas doesn’t fuck Dean, he  _ makes love _ to him. Every movement, every touch is soaked in adoration, in love. He kisses Dean breathless, strokes his cheekbones with his thumb, and moves gently, slowly within him.

In return, Dean tries very much to give as good as he gets. He kisses Cas back, he smooths his palms down the firmly muscled planes of Cas’ shoulder blades and back, and he keeps his legs around his waist, keeping them close. He knows he’s crying because he can feel his tears leaking down his temples, but Cas doesn’t seem to care. He kisses Dean’s tears away, even though his own blue eyes are a little misty.

Dean’s orgasm hits him like a gentle, inexorable wave, and it catches him by surprise. He can give no more warning than the tightening of his fingers before he’s shuddering and coming, sighing softly as he paints their chests white. Cas kisses him passionately, thrusts a few more times, then stiffens over Dean and fills the condom.

Their kisses turn languid and lazy, but it’s long, long minutes before Cas separates them long enough to get a warm, wet cloth and come back to bed. He cleans Dean reverently, pressing a kiss to each inch of skin he leaves behind. Dean smiles and soaks in the attention, then shamelessly pulls Cas back into bed and curls into his arms.

Cas chuckles. “I should go throw that in the laundry hamper.” But he’s wrapping Dean tight and holding him there, so there’s no real chance of that happening.

“I’ll get it in the morning,” Dean murmurs. Sleep is starting to pull him under, the exhaustion of the day, and past days, as well as the emotional turmoil he’s undergone in the last forty-five minutes, have all left him completely drained.

He can feel Cas smile against his forehead. “Sleep, little one. We’ll face everything else in the morning.”

Dean smiles a little, too, even as he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback gets my motor running.   
> \- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I was thinking about this story and realized the MCD warning isn't really accurate. It's a minor character death. I'm fixing that in the tags.

The first time Castiel wakes up that night, it takes him a few minutes to sort out _why_ he’s awake. A glance at the clock tells him it’s around four in the morning, and God bless it, he has no desire to be in any state of consciousness. The last few weeks have taken their toll, and he’s desperate to get back to the first real rest he’s had since he was woken up by that terrible phone call. He’s even more eager for Dean to continue to sleep uninterrupted.

_Dean._

With a sleepy sort of surprise, he realizes that Dean is laid entirely on top of him, head tucked beneath Castiel’s chin, snoring rather loudly. He’s a warm, solid, _heavy_ weight on Castiel’s chest.

He smiles and tightens his arms around Dean’s waist, savoring the closeness even though he’s sweating through the sheets tangled around their legs. His heart thuds a warm, steady beat against Dean’s chest, where he can feel an answering rhythm. _What I wouldn’t give to have this forever,_ he thinks as he drifts back to sleep.

* * *

The second time he wakes up, it’s because the smoke detectors are wailing and there’s an acrid taste building in the back of his throat.

He jolts up, cold adrenaline dumping into his bloodstream and clearing the sleepiness from his mind. Smoke is starting to gather in the corners of the room up at the ceiling, and the scent of burning plaster and wood stings at his nose. There’s a dull roar coming from the direction of the hallway. Castiel remembers dimly that he once read somewhere that, according to the victims, the most surprising thing about housefires is how _loud_ they are.

Next to him, Dean is also sitting up, blankets pooled at his waist. His green eyes are wide and frantic as they take in the details of their room.

Their brains kick into high gear at the same time, apparently, because they simultaneously leap out of bed. Castiel grabs the first pair of pants he lays hands on and yanks them on.

 _“Sam,”_ Dean is gasping, doing the same thing on the other side of the bed with a pair of plaid pajama pants. His voice is harsh and scared, but his movements are decisive. “I gotta, I mean, _Sam,_ I gotta-”

Castiel rushes around the side of the bed to grab Dean’s arms, forcing him to stare into his eyes. “Go get Sam,” he says firmly. They don’t have time for it, but he presses a firm kiss to his boy’s forehead. “He needs you to be calm. Go. Now.”

“What about-”

“Kevin is with Sam, get them both out of the building. I’ll meet you outside with the others.”

Dean wraps a hand around the back of Castiel’s neck and kisses him hard. It warms something deep in his chest, even as he follows Dean.

It occurs to him, as he runs toward the shared apartment, that they should probably have taken a few moments to put shirts and shoes on before leaving the bedroom. It doesn’t stop him from dashing toward the shared apartment, but the little flares of pain on his chest and arms, as well as the gritty feel of the carpet beneath his feet, make him think he’s going to regret his oversight. He thinks of Dean with a pang of guilt, but doesn’t turn around to make sure he’s safe.

 _Dean will get the boys out,_ he thinks firmly to himself. _You have other responsibilities._

He watches warily as the fire on the other side of the hallway, climbs up Benny’s apartment door. The boy is gone for the night, thank _God._ Castiel is reasonably certain that he’ll have enough time to wake Charlie, get her going down the stairs, and get to Garth’s apartment, directly across the hall from Benny’s, to get the last of his crew out of the building. He hopes the residents on the other floors are getting to safety, as well.

He prays hard for the first time in years as he bangs on the shared apartment’s door several times. _“Charlie!”_ he bellows. _“Charlie! Wake up!”_

The door flies open to reveal the girl in question, hair fluffy around her head, with a laptop sleeve under her arm and dressed in pajamas. Her feet are bare, too.

“What’s going on?” Her green eyes are wide with fear, and Castiel desperately wishes he had the time to comfort her. _She looks so incredibly young._

“There’s a fire. Go downstairs, meet Dean and the others on the sidewalk.” When she hesitates, he snaps, _“Go!”_

She turns and hurries down the hall. Satisfied, Castiel turns toward the hallway. The fire is growing up one wall, but the other is still mostly unscathed. He may get burnt, but he can get past it. He _has_ to get past it, because Garth is still-

His rapid-fire planning is halted by a soft _whoosh,_ accompanied by a wave of heat as the fire _explodes_ in front of him, consuming the hallway before his eyes. He’s pushed back gently, but there’s nothing gentle about the way the walls are blackening so quickly, exposing the wiring and framing behind the plaster.

_“No!”_

The way is blocked by roaring, crackling fire. There’s no way he can safely get through now.

_There must be a way._

_“Garth!”_

Castiel charges forward, feet and chest be damned, because it’s _Garth._ He _must_ get to Garth, there’s no alternative. He _must_ save him.

Small but strong hands grip at his arm and yank him back. He turns to snarl, and Charlie’s eyes are still terrified, but her mouth is set into a grim line. “Cas, you can’t!” she shouts to be heard over the din of the fire. “You’ll kill yourself!”

“Garth is in there!” He pulls away and takes another step toward Garth’s apartment, but the fire flares out and he’s forced back.

Charlie grabs him and tugs at him again. “I know! The firefighters will get to him!”

He pulls out of her grasp. “I can’t leave him!”

“You have to!” She yanks at his arm again. “Come on! They’re wasting time trying to get to us when they could be going to Garth!”

That sinks into Castiel’s panic-ridden brain, and he immediately turns to follow her down the hall. The smoke is starting to cloud the entire area and breathing is becoming an issue, but it gets better the further they go down. Charlie is right next to him, hurrying down the stairs in bare feet, clutching her computer and coughing.

On the way down, Cas’ thoughts are in a jumble. _Should have acted sooner. Should have gone to Garth first. Should have protected my crew._

They burst out onto the street and directly into chaos. There are firetrucks and firefighters in uniform everywhere. Other residents of the building are quickly pouring out behind them. Castiel takes Charlie’s arm in hand and pulls her away from the door where they were both frozen.

_“Cas!”_

As always, Dean is a guiding light. Castiel moves towards his voice until he sees him, bare-chested and running to them. He manages to let go of Charlie in time to catch Dean as the boy throws himself at him. He holds Dean close, crushing him to his chest as he babbles.

“I got Sam and Kevin out, they’re getting checked out at an ambulance. I got them out, Cas, they were _asleep,_ Cas, they would have… But they didn’t, I got them out.” He pulls away, finally, to look Cas in the eye. “What about the others?”

“Benny…” Cas swallows hard. His throat burns and aches all the way down, but he relishes it. It’s a punishment for his failings, one he embraces wholeheartedly.

“Benny is with Andrea tonight,” he says hoarsely. “Charlie is here, she was already awake.”

Dean frowns. “What about…”

“I…” Castiel’s eyes fill with tears and he looks away, unable to watch as he falls off of the pedestal Dean has put him on. “I was unable to reach Garth before the fire… Before it became too dangerous.”

_Selfish, you selfish bastard. How could you? You should have let the fire rend the flesh from your bones rather than leave Garth there. You should have run straight through those goddamn flames, and instead, a boy could be dead because you couldn’t-_

“Cas,” Dean’s sharp voice breaks into his thoughts. When he turns to look, Dean’s eyes are fierce, defiant. “That ain’t your fault. The firefighters are trying to get to him now, okay? They would be wasting time trying to save both of you if you were still in there. There are only a few stragglers left, so they’re up on the ladder trying to get to him. There’s no damn use in the both of you being hurt.”

“Dean, if something… Happens…”

 _“Nothing_ will happen to Garth,” Dean snaps. “Nothing will happen to him. The smoke detectors did their jobs, they woke us up, we were up on time.” Castiel isn’t sure which of them Dean is trying harder to convince. “Come on. You gotta get checked by a paramedic.”

Dean tangles their fingers together and drags Castiel over to where the other three are huddled next to an ambulance. As soon as they get close, Charlie leaps into Dean’s arms. He hugs her hard and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

Sam surprises Cas by hugging him just as hard. It takes him a beat, but he hugs the boy back, desperately relieved that he’s okay.

“Glad you made it out, Cas,” Sam murmurs against his chest.

“And I, you, Sam,” he says solemnly.

As soon as Sam steps away, Kevin launches himself at Castiel. He’s surprised again, but less so this time. Kevin had a particularly hard time after his mother passed and was a clingy, affectionate child. Castiel holds him tightly, rocking him back and forth.

“We’re all right,” he murmurs, meeting Dean’s eyes over the boy’s head. “We’re all right.”

_God, please. Please let Garth be all right, too. Please._

* * *

“We did everything we could,” the fire chief says solemnly. “The structural damage was too significant, there was no safe way for our guys to get in there. Some sort of accelerant must have been used for the fire to burn so hot so fast.”

 _So hot so fast. Accelerant. No safe way._ The words ricochet around in Castiel’s head, but he lets no trace of his emotions show on his face as he nods at the man’s words.

“If it’s any consolation, he probably never even woke up,” the chief says kindly. “He probably died of smoke inhalation and carbon monoxide poisoning before he was awake at all.”

_Smoke inhalation. Carbon monoxide poisoning. He probably died._

“Thank you,” Castiel says tightly before turning and walking back toward the crew.

They’ve watched for forty minutes while the firefighters tried to reach Garth’s apartment, then watched as they admitted defeat. No one was unaffected, the men and women making the rescue attempt look devastated. It’s a small comfort.

Kevin and Sam are clutching one another, wrapped up in a scratchy emergency blanket and sitting on the sidewalk, staring up at the building. Charlie is standing next to Dean, just behind the boys on the ground. They’re holding hands, but she’s staring up at the building, too. Her laptop is resting against her feet and her free hand is carding through Kevin’s hair comfortingly.

Dean is staring straight at Castiel. His eyes are anguished and concerned, and Castiel doesn’t know what to do.

He wants to get them all to safety. He wants to take them somewhere far away to let them heal where they’ll be safe. He wants to take Dean to bed, cocoon them both in blankets, and sleep for approximately forty-eight hours. He wants Garth to be alive.

None of that is immediately possible, however, because Castiel, deep in his heart, is not a good man.

Oh, yes, he takes care of his charges, and loves them like his own. He teaches them to take care of themselves in a world that won’t care one bit if they fail and sends them out into it. He would take each and every one of them back in if they needed it. Hell, the floor he owns _(owned)_ had several empty apartments waiting for someone to need to move back in.

But Castiel is a thief. At thirteen years old, he stripped himself of his given name and chose a new one for himself and stepped away from that a different person. Cain saw the transformation and accepted it easily, helping to shape Castiel into the man he is now. A man who, while capable of kindness and tenderness, is also capable of harshness and ruthlessness.

A man who craves revenge on those who harmed his family.

“Charlie, Dean,” he says once he’s close enough to _(what’s left of)_ his crew. “I want you to take Sam and Kevin to the safehouse. Charlie, you know where it is. Go there now, in my car. There’s a spare key under the tire well.”

Dean is frowning. “What about you?”

Castiel takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, looking away for a beat. “This was Abaddon.” At the combined gasps he gets at that, he nods. “I believe she’s working with Azazel, and I believe that he started the fire. I have to…” He clenches his jaw and hardens his heart. “I have to go take care of this.”

“Take care of it how?” Charlie asks.

“I have to go make that vile woman regret ever entertaining the notion of coming after us,” he promises grimly.

* * *

“Benny?”

“Boss, I heard about the fire, and Garth.” His Cajun accent is thicker than normal, like it usually gets when Benny’s feeling emotional. “I’m on my way home.”

“Don’t. Meet me at the studio we have rented on fourth street.”

“... Boss?”

Benny is good. He’s welcoming and warm and laidback enough to be accepting about pretty much anything that’s thrown at him. Castiel is lucky to know the boy, much less have him as part of the team. He knows Benny won’t be a thief for life, and he knows that Benny is close to the time where he’ll start living on the straight and narrow.

But Benny also has it within him to be just as relentless as Castiel is. Because Benny’s own family was so incredibly awful, he has a fine appreciation for the family they’ve managed to carve out for themselves. Castiel knows, as well, that he’ll be just as determined to exact retribution as he himself is.

“This was the work of Abaddon and her gang. We’re going to… Take care of it.”

“... I’ll hit the studio on fourth to grab you some clothes and meet you at the apartments, boss.” Already his voice is colder, more distant, although Castiel knows the fire burning in Benny’s breast is as fierce as his own.

“Thank you, Benny.”

* * *

Dean resentfully drives Cas’ pimp-mobile to the safehouse, following Charlie’s soft, hesitant directions. Sam and Kevin are in the backseat, still sitting with their shoulders pressed together. Sam looks scared and upset, but Kevin looks straight up _haunted._ The kid is freaked out to the max, and Dean gets it, he really does, but he’s…

Well, he’s too pissed off to be very sympathetic right now. The job is better left to Sam to comfort Kevin.

When they get to the safehouse, a pretty generic ranch-style home smack-dab in the middle of a suburb, he punches in the garage code Charlie gives him and pulls in, making sure to close and lock the garage door behind him. Charlie is already at the security box on the wall, putting in the series of numbers to keep the alarm from going off. Once it beeps that they’re good to go, they trudge into the house.

It’s nondescript, just like the apartments were before each member of the crew personalized them. They all smell like smoke and fire, so they draw straws to decide on which of them gets to shower first. It’s easy to rig it so that Sam and Kevin are entering the two bathrooms first, leaving Dean sitting with Charlie in the kitchen.

He starts a pot of coffee and stares at it as it brews and thinks.

He understands why he’s here. Not only to make sure the younger kids are taken care of, especially since Kevin is so shaken, but to protect them. To make sure they don’t end up hurt or targeted as Cas and Benny go to take that bitch Abaddon and her crew down a peg, or hopefully take them down altogether.

Dean wants to trust that Cas knows best, he really does. He wants to trust that Cas has taken the best man for the job with him, and that Cas will be safe without him, and that he doesn’t currently need Dean along with him.

He just… Well, he doesn’t trust any of that at all. He needs to be with Cas, needs to be helping him exact revenge.

“Charlie-”

“Look,” she cuts him off with a shrewd look over the top of her laptop screen. “This is a really, really, _really_ bad idea. Like, colossally, holy shit, the worst idea ever bad.”

“... But?” he asks hopefully.

A put-upon sigh leaves her lips. “But… I think you’re gonna do it no matter what I say. So I may as well make sure you don’t fucking _die_ while you do it.”

Dean grins. “That’s the spirit.”

“Shut up,” she snaps, but she’s smiling, too. “You check in every fifteen minutes _sharp,_ or I sic Cas and Benny on you.”

“Done.”

“You keep the GPS on your phone turned on so I know where you are.”

“Done.”

“You take another tracker in your shoe, in case your phone is compromised.”

“Paranoid, but done.”

“Dean.” Her voice is soft and serious now. “They _killed_ Garth. I understand that you can’t sit here with us, that you can’t just be here and feel okay about it. I _get_ it. But you’ve gotta let me take care of you, too, because I can’t lose you, too.” Her eyes are alarmingly misty. “We can’t lose more than one of us tonight, okay? You gotta be careful. You _gotta.”_

Dean stands up and rounds the table to scoop Charlie into a tight hug. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“You’d better be,” she mutters into his chest. “Now, go shower and get some of the blacks from Cas’ dressers, because if you leave in just pajama pants, you’re gonna attract undue attention.”

* * *

Dressed in blacks and driving a sedan he stole from a supermarket three and a half blocks away from the safehouse, Dean goes to the studio apartment he heard Cas telling Benny to meet him at. He knows they won’t still be there, but it’s his best lead. Maybe they left something that will give him a clue as to how to find them, because neither of them are answering their phones.

He parks and stares at the shitty little apartment complex. He takes a moment to be thankful that at least Cas owned _nice_ apartments for them to live in, and they weren’t stuck in places like this. Or, at least, weren’t _still_ stuck in places like this. Hell, this apartment isn’t that far away from he and Sam’s old apartment where they lived with their father.

Dean shakes his head a little to dispel the memories that threaten to come up and drown him. A fire that he barely remembers killed his mother, and with the events of earlier tonight, it’s enough to give a guy a complex. He tries to keep his cool, at least until he and Cas are behind closed doors and they can break down together, maybe hold one another up.

He gets out of the car, locks it, and starts toward the apartment complex. He gets no more than four steps away before a wide, strong, calloused hand is clamping over his mouth and the sharp blade of a knife is threatening to dig into his neck.

In front of him steps Abaddon from the shadows. Her red hair seems to glow in the shitty streetlamp light, and her lipstick is untouched by what must have been a hectic day for her.

“Oh, pretty little boy,” she purrs. “Off to a daring rescue, hmm?”

Dean can do nothing but glare at her as he contemplates struggling, but the knife is a solid reminder that it would be a bad idea.

She laughs. “Oh, honey, you didn’t think you were the only ones who had someone watching, did you? I knew that one of you would come out and try to rescue our dear Cassie, just like I knew he’d come running to get his vengeance about your building.” She tilts her head with a cruel smile. “Tell me, did anyone die in my little fire? It was so very difficult to get close enough to tell.”

Knife be damned, rage crashes over Dean like a wave and he lunges for her, intent on getting his hands around her pretty, slender neck and crushing the life out of her for having the audacity to mention Garth.

Instead, the hand over his mouth grips his jaw hard and yanks his head to the side, throwing him off balance and wrenching at his neck and shoulder. He yelps out in pain, scrabbling at the hand holding him.

“Hit him,” Abaddon says carelessly. “We need him quiet to transport him. I know Cassie will come for him, and then we’ll have some _fun.”_

A sharp pain explodes at his temple, and everything abruptly slips away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm so sorry. Feel free to shout at me in the comments.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

When his phone rings for the seventh time in fifteen minutes, Castiel gives in, digs it out of his trench coat pocket, and answers.

“Yes?”

Benny shoots him a glance from the corner of his eye, but ultimately says nothing as they make their way through the night.

Once he dressed in the blacks Benny brought him from the safehouse he keeps, they immediately began brainstorming where Abaddon would be. There were no pleasantries, no swapped or received condolences. One of the things Castiel appreciates most about Benny is his willingness to immediately get to work when it’s called for. They have no ideas when Castiel’s phone rings and he answers.

He’s immediately assaulted with, as he discerns after a few moments of nonsense, is Charlie speaking at an incredible speed.

“-and I _knew_ it was a bad idea and I _told_ him it was a bad idea, like oh wow bad, but he was gonna do it _anyway,_ Cas, and now I know where he is and where they’re going but I’m not a badass and I know you are under the whole ‘nerd thief chic’ you’ve got going on and you’ve got Benny with you and you gotta save him, Cas, you gotta-”

 _“Charlie!”_ he snaps. He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Charlie, my patience is very thin. Tell me _precisely_ what you’re talking about.”

“Dean,” she says, and if Cas wasn’t still in shock, he’s certain his heart would have stopped. “Dean went after you guys, and I think Abaddon has him.”

“And where is he now?”

“An old office building on eighteenth avenue.”

“Out by the docks?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know this?”

“I made him put a tracker in his shoe in case his cell phone got taken away. Which it has. They trashed it, I think. Or at the very least turned it off. But I doubt Abaddon is real worried about Dean’s cell phone insurance coverage, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she-”

_“Charlie.”_

Her voice is small and sad when she answers. “Sorry, chief.”

“You did well,” he says, the most comfort he can offer at the moment. He tells himself that he’ll make it up to her later. “Send me the coordinates of where they have him.” He hangs up the phone without another word and looks at Benny.

“What’s the plan, boss?” the Cajun asks, smooth and unshakable.

“We go find Dean.” He turns back to look out the windshield. “And then we kill Abaddon.”

* * *

The building where Dean is being held is decrepit. Several windows of the bottom floor have been broken, and there are no lights on, from the outside, anyway. The only sign that it’s occupied at all is the guard standing at the door. He’s very clearly armed.

Castiel’s work, he reflects as he gets out of the car just moments after Benny parks it, is rooted in subtlety. He runs cons or grifts, or he slips into a place in secrecy and subterfuge to take what he wants. Stealing is working with kid gloves and gentle touches. If he does his job right, his mark doesn’t even know he was there.

Castiel intends to make his presence _quite_ hard to miss this evening.

He doesn’t hesitate whatsoever to pull the gun from the shoulder holster under his coat, point it at the man, and shoot him before the guard has a chance to do more than register their presence. The gun gives the _crack_ of a silenced weapon (the sound not _nearly_ as quiet as the movies Dean so enjoys make it seem) and man gives a cry of pain and crumples to the ground, cursing.

Benny says nothing. They approach the door, and when they get there Benny crouches and hits the man on the back of the head sharply, knocking him unconscious, quiet. Castiel strides past them, not sparing either of them a glance. He knows Benny will take care of the guard, and he has places to be.

He knows, in his logical mind, that Abaddon won’t kill Dean. Dean is far too precious to Castiel for Abaddon to kill, even if she doesn’t know about the romantic relationship between the two of them, though he’s almost certain she at least suspects it. She _knows_ that Castiel is fiercely protective of his charges, and she wants to exploit that. So he knows, in his head, that Dean is at least alive.

His heart, however, isn’t as easily convinced, and he is reacquainted with a sickly sort of fear for the second time tonight.

He doesn’t bother moving quietly through the building. There are pieces of abandoned office furniture scattered about, desks and chairs and filing cabinets with drawers left halfway open. There’s a thick layer of dust and debris covering everything, making it easy to follow the path where Abaddon and her crony took Dean even in the darkness.

Castiel takes the stairs two at a time, anger burning in his chest. He clings to it gladly, building it up and provoking it to a roar.

He will _wreck_ her. He will make her regret _everything._ He is going to tear Abaddon _limb from limb_ for _daring_ to lay a _hand_ on Dean Winchester.

When he reaches a closed door on the third floor where the disturbances in the dust lead, he takes a beat to center himself before he goes in. As angry as he is, and as much as he’s used that to keep him steady and driven, it will do no good to go in with anything but a clear head.

Once he feels braced, he opens the door and walks in.

This room has been cleared of office furniture, but not dust. There are marks on the floor that would probably tell the tale of where everything went if Castiel cared to look. He does not. He prefers, instead, to let his eyes bore into Abaddon in the dim, flickering light afforded them by a lone fluorescent bulb.

She stands at the center of the room, her body language loose and relaxed. She’s wearing a black leather jacket, a white t-shirt, and dark jeans. Her red hair clouds around her face, and her mouth again bears the bright red lipstick she so favors. Her eyes twinkle with malice, poorly disguised as good humor.

She’s standing behind and just to the left of Dean, who appears to have been tied to a chair. His blacks are filthy from being pulled through the dust, and Cas is further enraged when he realizes they simply dragged Dean around while he was unconscious. There’s bruising on his lovely face, his right eye swollen almost shut even as it darkens, and a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. There appears to be a patch where his hair is missing at his left temple, and his shirt is torn open to reveal bloody, oozing cuts on his shoulder and chest. They, at least, appear to be from a scuffle and not from outright torture.

 _May God have mercy on them,_ Castiel thinks grimly.

Dean is awake, though, and staring at Cas with remorse and fierceness swimming in his eyes. Castiel gives him a nod, brief, and Dean’s mouth quirks up just a bit on one side. It lets Castiel know that, though Dean is hurting, he has had worse, and for now he is fine.

“Cassie!” Abaddon crows, all false cheer and happiness. “So lovely that you’re here! Oh, I’m so terribly glad to see you!”

“Abaddon,” Castiel says coldly. “I told you not to do anything stupid when you came to my city.”

Abaddon laughs, and Castiel can hear how incredibly unhinged she is in the dulcet sound. “Oh, Castiel, you’re such a card.”

He chooses to ignore her. “I told you that I would make you regret hurting one of my charges.”

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, menacingly. “When we were growing up, Dean, oh, Cassie here was the golden child.” Dean doesn’t acknowledge her at all, but Abaddon has always liked the sound of her own voice and she doesn’t appear to need any input from either of them. Only the worry that she has a weapon hidden somewhere keeps Castiel still.

“Oh, you should have _heard_ the way Cain spoke of him,” she continues, dark delight dripping from each syllable like oil. “‘Castiel this,’ ‘Castiel that,’ ‘do it the way Castiel does it,’ ‘pay attention to the methods _Castiel_ uses,’” she sneers. “Cassie could do _no_ wrong, Deanie.” She leans down so her lips are almost brushing Dean’s ear, and Cas bristles. The knowing, satisfied gleam in her eyes tells Castiel that she’s noticed.

“But now, _now,_ Cassie has his _own_ golden boy.” She smirks as she straightens. “I’ve been _watching_ you with the boy, Castiel, and I… Understand the urge to keep him.” She draws one long, blood red nail down the side of Dean’s neck and Castiel fights the urge to fling himself at her. “So I think I will,” she purrs. “I’ll keep him from _you,_ and you can be the one left in the cold this time.”

Castiel’s mind races. _What the hell is she talking about? What does she want? Start from the beginning, Castiel, don’t get ahead of yourself. Start with Cain. She says I was the golden child, that Cain set me above the others, used me and my work as an example. Which is true, I suppose, but she wasn’t half bad at the craft. A little less subtle, maybe. Used different misdirections than I did. Although, it’s no wonder. She’s aesthetically lovely, with the hair and the provocative clothing she wore-_

_Tight jeans. Used me as an example. “The urge to keep him.”_

Dazed, Castiel says, “You were _jealous.”_ A smile starts to curl his lips. “You wanted Cain, and you were _jealous.”_

* * *

Dean’s evening has _not_ gone to plan.

What was supposed to be heroically joining up with Cas and Benny to exact revenge for their family turned into waking up in a nondescript office building with Abaddon tying him to a chair. Then, because she’s a _delight,_ she proceeded to beat the tar out of him for a while, seemingly just for fun. The longer it took for Cas to find them, however, the more genuinely angry she seemed to get, and the more she hit him.

Dean _really_ hates her.

The moment they heard the _pop!_ of the silenced gunshot outside, though, her eyes had lit up with an insane sort of happiness.

And now Cas is standing there in front of them, hands casually in his trench coat pockets like he doesn’t give a fuck. His blacks are untouched by dirt or dust, not like Dean’s are. His hair is sex-wild like it always is, but there’s a furious glint in those blue eyes that makes Dean thinks Abaddon’s days are fucking _numbered._

Cas smirks, and Dean would want him if his body didn’t feel like one giant bruise. _Damn, he looks good._

“You wanted Cain, and you were _jealous.”_

 _“What?”_ Abaddon hisses.

“Oh, how interesting,” Cas says thoughtfully.

Abaddon has a hand resting on Dean’s shoulder. She’s been stroking the flesh bared from the tear in his shirt there in some sort of twisted attempt at… Seduction? Temptation? Dean doesn’t know, but it’s making his skin crawl.

Now, however, as she becomes outraged at Cas’ accusation, the fingers that were so gently touching him are starting to dig in as she clutches him tighter in her anger. Her nails are starting to pierce his skin, and he thinks she’s gonna start drawing blood soon. He bites the inside of his cheek, a point of pain that he alone is in control of, to keep himself from grunting. Cas seems to be onto something, and Dean doesn’t wanna fuck up his plans any more than he already has.

“I was not _jealous,”_ Abaddon snaps. “What would I have had to be jealous of, anyway? Some skinny social reject who could barely hold a conversation?”

“Of course you were,” Cas says easily, ignoring the jab at himself. “That’s why you were forever parading yourself around in tight jeans and low-cut blouses. Why you’ve always had a penchant for that _hideous_ red lipstick you refuse to go without.”

Dean works hard to keep his face impassive as Abaddon shrieks and her nails sink into his shoulder harder. He can feel blood start to well up, soaking into his shirt. He hopes the black fabric is enough to keep Cas from seeing it. He’s kind of on a roll, Dean doesn’t want to interrupt if he can help it.

Cas goes on without acknowledging Abaddon’s fury. “It must have driven you _insane_ that he wanted me.” He’s smirking again, his body language insolent as he takes a sauntering step forward. “My God, when we started sleeping together, I’m surprised you _stayed._ We were… Less than subtle.”

_“Shut up!”_

Cas’ smirk spreads into an absolutely _brilliant_ smile. “That would be why you’ve been trying to beat me since we were children, isn’t it, Abbie?” He scoffs. “As if you could even approach being able to compete with me.”

In this moment, Dean can see beneath Cas’ bravado. Oh, sure, Cas is pissed. He’s royally angry, ready to bring Abaddon down and probably burn the building they’re in to the ground to make a point. He wants to absolutely destroy Abaddon for what she’s done, for what she’s taken from them. Dean can see it all in Cas’ eyes.

Cas is also scared for Dean. Petrified, and no wonder. Dean's basically at the mercy of a madwoman, and there's very little Cas can do to stop it from all the way over there. If she decides to snap Dean’s neck like a chicken’s, his neck will be snapped.

It’s not a _great_ situation to be in.

 _“I,”_ Abaddon is snarling, “am better than you _ever were.”_

“Keep telling yourself that, dear,” Cas says, condescension dripping from every syllable.

She shrieks incoherently again, her fingers sinking into Dean’s collarbone with an unholy sort of strength, the kind that only comes when the bearer has lost their mind. He’s barely able to keep quiet through the pain.

“Poor Abbie,” Cas sneers. “Always wanting to be in first place.” He smiles cruelly. “My dear, you were never even in the running.”

Abaddon absolutely _screams_ in rage. She uses the hand she has on his shoulder to hurl Dean forward, because crazy though she may be, stupid she is not. She’s not going to get through Cas, so she must figure that her best bet is to flee.

_Probably not wrong._

Dean’s arms are bound behind him, so he has no way stop himself from hitting the floor hard with his face. He turns his head so his right side, the side with an already black eye, is the one that smashes into the ground. Pain explodes, and he can feel the skin on his cheek split against the floor and the carpet leaves burns against his face. He manages to heave to lay on his side, and although that does have the disadvantage of leaving the chair weighing down onto his bicep in a line of hot agony, the rest of his body gets the barest hint of relief, so he’ll take it.

He hears instead of sees Abaddon run down the hall through the second door from the office. She moves rather silently, but the high heel boots she’s wearing give her location away pretty definitively. Maybe if she hadn’t been so set on dressing the part of femme fatale, she’d have gotten away clean.

Cas, instead of chasing her, immediately crouches behind Dean and begins untying his hands. Now that the threat is out of the actual room, Dean decides he’s earned some complaining.

“Ow.”

Cas gets him out of his binds quickly, tosses the chair away with a too-loud clatter in the mostly silent building, and then he’s pulling Dean up to sit in front of him. Big hands cup his face tenderly, which is nice because the right side feels like raw hamburger and Dean has kinda fallen out of the habit of getting his face smashed in.

He smiles as much as he can. “Hiya, Cas.”

 _“Stupid,”_ Cas growls, but the fact that he punctuates the insult with a gentle kiss to the parts of Dean’s face that aren’t aching undermine the heat in the word. “Insolent,” kiss, “disobedient,” kiss, “ridiculous,” kiss, _“beautiful_ boy,” Cas says fervently, finally kissing Dean very softly on the lips. He returns it as much as he can, although his bottom lip is split and it hurts, it’s always, _always_ gonna be worth some hurt to have Cas here like this.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs against that lush mouth, “Cas, she’s getting away.”

Cas sighs, lays a final kiss on Dean’s lips, and pulls away. “We’ll get her,” he promises. He stands, then offers a hand to help Dean to his own feet. As he does so (painfully), Cas continues, “we will have our revenge.”

Dean just leans against Cas with a nod, letting his forehead come down to rest on the older man’s shoulder. Cas wraps one strong arm around his waist, partially enveloping him in the warmth of the trench coat, as Cas whips his phone out and hits a speed-dial.

Dean is close enough to hear Benny’s voice. “Boss.”

“Benny, Abaddon is getting away.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “Well, shit. I didn’t see her. Got her crony, though.”

“Azazel?”

“Ayuh.”

“... And what have you done with him?”

“He won’t be an issue anymore,” Benny says vaguely, and Dean thinks that he’s glad Benny is on their side.

“Very well,” Cas says after another beat of silence. “We’ll find her. Bring the car around, please, Dean has been injured.”

“Ten-four, boss.” The phone goes dead.

Cas drops the phone in his pocket and wraps both arms around Dean, holding him gently but close. He speaks with his mouth pressed to Dean’s temple. “Do you think you can make it to the car, little one?”

“She got away,” Dean whispered, aching and feeling broken inside. “She got away because of me, Cas.”

“Shh, shh, none of that.” Cas whispers, steady as he always is. “Dean,” his voice is low, fervent, _honest,_ “there is no universe in which there is _anything_ more important than you. We will find Abaddon, or we won’t, but there will _never_ be a moment in which I am not grateful that you are safe.”

It’s too much. On top of the sharp, earth-shattering fear for Sam he felt upon waking up, and then the second wave of terror when he realized that Cas wasn’t right behind him as he got out of the building. The absolute horror of realizing that, though the two most important people in his life were out, Garth was still in there. The slowly dawning, cold realization that Garth was _never_ going to come out of the building. The wave of grief that almost took him out at the knees. And then the bubbling, boiling anger, which he now thinks may have been a bit childish, that he was being benched with the rest of the “kids.” The fear that Cas might not come for him, might write him off as too much trouble once he realized that Abaddon had caught him. The relief of seeing Cas walk through that door.

And now _this._

Dean closes his eyes hard against the tears that are coming to his eyes and making the back of his throat ache. Cas is still making soothing noises, holding him tight, and Dean lets him, no matter how much he believes he doesn’t deserve it.

“Come,” Cas says after a long few minutes, “let’s go home, little one.”


	14. Epilogue - Two and a Half Years Later

When Cas wakes up, it’s because his cock is throbbing and engulfed in wet, sucking heat.

He groans and reaches down without opening his eyes to fist his hand in Dean’s hair, earning himself a moan from the  _ beautiful _ boy currently sucking him down. The vibrations shudder from Dean’s mouth up Castiel’s spine, sparking with pleasure and making him buck just a little before he controls himself.

Dean is working his tongue along the bottom of Castiel’s shaft, sending tremendous sensations ricocheting through him, and he knows that he’s not going to last long enough this way. He gently but insistently uses his hold in Dean’s hair to tug him off

“Hey,” Dean whines, voice husky from being used, “I was having fun with that.”

“Hmm, I’m sure you were,” Cas agrees, urging Dean up until he’s close enough to nip at his full lower lip, stuck out just a bit in a pout. “But I have other plans for you.”

Dean’s face lights up in a playful grin. “Oh yeah? What’s that, oh birthday boy?”

Cas groans and lets his head fall back. “Please don’t remind me that I’m turning forty today.” He eyes Dean warily as the boy straddles his hips, though he runs his hands up the slim, toned thighs just the same. “Or that I’m sleeping with a spritely nineteen-year-old.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow and Cas can  _ feel _ himself get harder at the sight. His Dean, his boyfriend, his partner in all things. He’s overwhelmed, awed,  _ turned on _ by how much he adores Dean. He wants to mark him up, to buy him a ring, to tattoo his ownership all over every piece of Dean’s body and soul, and have Dean do the same to him.

Dean, oblivious to the revelations going through Cas’ mind at lightning speed (although they happen almost every time he looks at him for too long, so it’s not so surprising), just smirks.  _ “‘Sleeping with?’ _ Just ‘sleeping with’ a nineteen-year-old, huh?”

Cas surges upward and bucks his hips to roll the two of them until Dean is flat on his back, laughing as he wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel doesn’t resist the urge to kiss him hard, savoring the way Dean tastes like him. He glides one hand down Dean’s body, letting his touch linger at ribs, a smooth, flat belly, and down to his hips. He circles back around to run a finger over Dean’s hole and yanks himself away in surprise when he finds it already slick and loose.

He looks down at his lover with narrowed eyes. “You’ve been busy.”

Dean grins, cheeky. “Yeah, well, if I’m just some kid you’re sleeping with, I gotta put some work into this.”

Without warning, Cas sinks a finger into Dean all the way, making his boy gasp and arch beneath him. He bends down to press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the hinge of Dean’s jaw and down his neck.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he works another finger into Dean, making him writhe. “I must not have made myself clear. I’m in  _ love _ with a nineteen-year-old.” He pumps his fingers in and out slowly, scissoring them just a bit. They’ve come a long way in two and a half years, finding a happy middle ground between adequate prep and Dean’s desire to feel Castiel for hours afterward.  _ “Wildly _ in love with a nineteen-year-old.” Dean keens and hitches his legs up to bracket Cas’ hips, and he knows Dean’s done with waiting.  _ “Wildly, shamelessly, incredibly _ in love with you.” The tenderness, the adoration in his words doesn’t match the way he lines up and thrusts in, not quite fast enough for Dean and not quite slow enough to be a tease, just this side of too dry.

Dean cries out, always beautiful, and Cas sucks a mark onto the place where his neck meets his shoulder. He will never get tired of Dean bearing the evidence of their time together.

“Cas,” Dean pants. He brings a leg up and around Castiel’s waist to urge him on.  _ “Fuck me.” _

Cas can’t see a good reason to deny him.

He sets a slow pace at first, as usual. He worships Dean, kissing across his cheekbones, sucking his bottom lip and biting it harshly before kissing the hurt away. Dean is giving up breathy sighs and choked off moans, his fingers twisting in Cas’ hair and his hips moving to take Cas in further.

Cas can’t help the way his thrusts get faster, the way his own breath starts to come in pants, or the way he bites down harder and harder on Dean’s neck as he approaches orgasm. He lifts one hand from where it was holding onto Dean’s hip and wraps it around his cock, stroking rough and fast, always guaranteed to set Dean off.

_ “Cas,” _ Dean cries, fucking up into his hand and back onto Cas’ cock in a way that makes him dizzy with need. “Gonna come,” he slurs.

“Good,” Cas growls into his neck. “Come for me, little one.”

It takes only a few more pulls of his cock before Dean is wailing and coming, his release shooting over his chest and belly. The sight, combined with the clench of his ass on Cas’ cock, sends him hurtling over the edge after him. He barely has the presence of mind to pull out, and he manages to stroke himself through his orgasm, mixing his come with Dean’s.

He groans and falls to the side so he doesn’t crush Dean. Mindless of that and of the mess on his belly, Dean immediately crowds next to him until Cas finds himself lying on his back with Dean’s head resting on his shoulder. He brings one hand up to card through Dean’s hair, idly thinking that the sheets are going to need to be washed and they’re both going to need showers before they go to breakfast.

Once he’s caught his breath, Cas turns to press his lips to Dean’s forehead. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Stop thanking me for sex,” Dean grumbles, but he’s smiling. “And happy birthday.”

Cas groans again, but holds Dean close. “Thank you.” After a hesitant beat, “I love you.”

Dean still isn’t the most demonstrative person, at least out loud. He has never hesitated when it comes to touching Cas, either in private or public, but sometimes he doesn’t feel comfortable saying the words. Cas doesn’t mind, he knows how Dean feels about him, and he doesn’t mind not having the words returned to him. He just doesn’t want Dean to tense up or deflect.

To his utter relief, Dean does neither “Love you, too, ya big sap,” he says, smile still lighting up his face. “Let’s get up, I gotta feed you.”

“We need to clean up first.”

_ “Ca-as,” _ Dean whines, and Cas laughs.

* * *

After a handsy,  _ lengthy _ shower, Dean leads Cas into the rebuilt shared apartment by the hand. It’s in a new building across town from the old one. It was a hard decision for everyone to make, since Cas insisted it had to be unanimous. In the end, no one was able to bear living in the same place Garth lost his life.

The new building is  _ nice as hell. _ It’s all big windows and light wood and natural lighting. It also happens to have an absolutely  _ insane _ security system. Not only is each apartment individually alarmed with two deadbolts and a thumb lock (each of which Cas has a copy of the code or key to), the floor itself is alarmed, as well as having a twenty-four hour security team doing hourly patrols. They may have made a mistake, but Dean and Cas both agreed that there wouldn’t be a second time.

They get into the kitchen and Dean fusses at Cas until he sits down, rolling his eyes. Dean sets the coffee to brew with a smile.

“Have we heard from Sam?” Cas asks.

It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Are you kidding? The kid’s in nerd heaven. I get one-word answers back from check-in, man.”

“At least he’s responding.”

“I’d kick his ass if he didn’t,” Dean grumbles as he pulls the ingredients for waffles out of the refrigerator.

Sam has gotten a pre-acceptance to Stanford Law School. The choice major sent Dean into heart palpitations, then into gales of laughter. Sam has promised not to come after Dean as long as Dean doesn’t steal from him (and stops teasing him about his hair). Sam’s currently at a summer seminar for students intending to enroll at the university. The kid’s a genius, and Dean couldn’t be more proud.

“I’m sure,” Cas says fondly, making Dean blush a little.

Before he can say something sassy back, Cole comes stumbling in, bare-chested and scratching his belly. “Breakfast?” He mumbles.

Dean silently points to the coffee pot with a spatula and watches in amusement as the teenager (Dean’s only  _ technically _ a teenager for another six months, so he can say that) makes a beeline for it.

Cole’s new, and the first member of the crew who Dean tentatively proposed taking in. Cole’s parents were in the military, and both lost their lives overseas. He’s fifteen, and maybe he’s a little obsessive, but he’ll be good once he grows up and chills out a little.

He claps Cas on the shoulder. “Happy birthday, Cas,” he mumbles, taking a seat one down from the older man.

“Thank you, Cole,” Cas says, his voice ridiculous and rough and everything Dean has ever wanted. “We should continue your work with Jeff today.”

“Hey!” Dean snaps, whirling around to glare. “No way, we are  _ not _ working today. Charlie and Kevin are coming by, and we’re all going to kick back and chill out and  _ celebrate.” _

Cas frowns. “Dean, we-”

Dean turns back to the waffle maker and pours the first batch of batter in. “No excuses, Cas.”

Cas huffs a sigh, and before he can argue more, a sharp voice interrupts.

“Are we still arguing about Cas’ birthday?” Krissy asks as she takes the seat next to Cole. The boy doesn’t move, but a blush colors his cheeks, and Dean has to turn back to hide a smirk.

_ Interesting. _

Charlie’s the one who found Krissy, and she’s  _ damn _ good. Her dad is gone, killed on a job that Krissy’s not real keen on being upfront about. Charlie assured them that it’s nothing that could hurt the crew, so Dean and Cas decided to let it go. Krissy’s a good member of the crew, a solid team player, and she’s probably a little bit actually crazy deep down, but she’s also a badass, so Dean’s a little scared of her even as he likes her a lot.

“Not arguing about shit,” Dean says with a grin and a wink at her. She rolls her eyes. “We’re celebrating today. Kevin and Charlie are headed this way soon.”

“What about Benny?”

Benny went the way of Cas’ predictions and is living on the straight and narrow. He married Andrea as soon as he could afford a ring (through questionable means, of course). He’ll still come run backup if Dean needs him, but they see him more often when he brings his daughter, Elizabeth, up to the apartments to see everyone. As much as Dean likes to pretend differently, he knows he and Cas turn into equally huge piles of goo when it comes to the demanding little girl.

“They’re gonna be here this afternoon with Bethy.”

At that, Cas’ eyes light up, and he looks adoringly at Dean.

He gets caught in that blue gaze, and Dean really thinks about it. About how he’d been so piss-your-pants terrified to go out that day to that fair. So much of his life was ruled by fear before he met Cas, before Cas gave him an opportunity to rule his own life. Before he then took that opportunity to settle his life nicely entangled with Castiel’s own.

He knows he’s making some major heart eyes at Cas, but he can’t seem to stop until Krissy snorts.

“Burning the waffle there, stud.”

“Son of a bitch!”

* * *

Later, Dean is sitting in Cas’ lap, being extra obnoxious about feeding him on purpose to make the older man blush and roll his eyes, when his phone lights up with Charlie’s number.

Charlie still holds the key to one of the new apartments, but she really isn’t the type to stay in one place. Kevin, who was affected most deeply by the loss of Kevin and became even more of a recluse as a result, surprised everyone when he asked if he could go with her.

“I don’t think I can do roof work anymore,” he confessed to Dean late one night. “I just… God, I still get so goddamn twitchy.” His eyes were determined when he looked at the older boy again. “But I can do this. I like the way Charlie does it, y’know? Less… Actual contact.”

Dean understood, as did Cas. Now, Charlie and Kevin check in with them fairly often, but it takes a rare occasion for them to actually visit.

Dean answers the phone without looking away from Cas. “Heya, Bradbury. Where the fuck-”

“Dean,” Charlie’s voice is unnaturally stern. “Are you sitting down?”

He winks at Cas, who blushes again. “Sure am.”

“Dean… I found Abaddon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And here we are! Thank you SO much for everyone who loved this story. This one means a lot to me, maybe smidge more than some of the others, and I'm so glad for everyone who liked it.
> 
> And now for, Some Answers to Questions You Might Have:  
> 1\. They find Abaddon. They dismantle her operation brick by brick. Any apprentices she has they either take in or get into the system so they can get the proper help. Abaddon herself is... _Dealt with._  
>  2\. Kevin never goes back to roof work. He stays with Charlie for a few years before going legit and joining Sam in law school.  
> 3\. Cole and Krissy get together and head off into the sunset to terrorize the world as soon as they're adults.  
> 4\. Benny's daughter, Elizabeth, totes becomes a thief.


End file.
